I met you when I was what, five? Kindergarten children, running, laughing, playing. Kids never dream of the things haunting us now. You smiled, I smiled, we told our secrets--we didn't have any. And then we went our ways.

I saw you when I was what, nine? Fourth grade, join my group, running, laughing, playing. Kids who only laugh at the things haunting us now. Our new friends--you fought, I defended, we hid our secrets--we'd only discovered them. And then we went our ways.

I see you now that I'm what, fifteen? Teenage mood swings, depression, cynicism. Adolescents trapped in their tortured minds. Your new friend--the blade you carry with you. You cut, I screamed, you didn't hear my voice--you'd already blocked it out. I can't go my way.
Everyone says you're mutilating yourself--"She doesn't know how to cut," they say. "If she's going to cut, she should do it right." Is there a right? I don't know. I don't understand why you won't listen to me. Why won't you let me in? You don't listen when I tell you it's not your fault.

I see you now that we're what, fifteen? Teenage darkness, bitterness. Adolescents striving for different goals. Our different friends--you, the blade, you, wedded to the pain, me, the words, bound to another pain. You cut, you burn, you show off your scars. I watch, I cry, I can't do anything.

But I wonder sometimes, late at night, when my own dark surrounds me, what is it like? To cut and see the blood, to know the pain... I preach against yours because I fear mine.