I'm the nice kid at school. The goody-goody-two-shoes. The happiest of the group. The kid with a constant smile. They would never suspect the inevitable pain. They would never know that under the wristbands that cover my wrists are deep, red scars and fresh cuts. The mask I wear is strong. They'll never know.

I thought i had it all worked out. But now, I dunno if I can hold it in any longer. I just wanna scream. I just want to let it all out. But then my disguise would be shattered. I'd lose all hope. I'd literally go insane. Ha. Ha. Insanity. Just the thought of it is cheerful. To lose all hold of reality, and be locked away in a padded room, my laughter ringing in the lonely halls would be bliss. No longer wanted. No longer needed. A dent in the Earth. A small form of life barely hanging on. I want to go away. I want to just die and see what awaits me. A prayer escapes my lips. A love for God is barely enough to keep me alive. It's not decent anymore. Not good anymore. The only thing that sustains the horrible mental pain is the addicting physical pain. It's funny how I do it. I use a shark tooth that I found in Florida. Sharpest thing I own. Sharper than the razors I buy privately from kids at school. There goes my lunch money, but who cares? I don't eat anyway. Cuts deep, and with each cut, takes my breath from me. Why the hell won't it work? Am I dead yet? Nope. Still here. The nice guy. The good kid.

It's all her fault. Why do I have to love her so damn much? Why don't I have a single fucking chance with her? It's because of who I am. Or who they think I am. Should I show myself? Or would I be a freak?

Ironic how my mind has only one question, with a MILLION possible answers. I ask myself over and over, with every cut; What if, what if, what if....