I'm not doing so well.
I tried to say something,
The words left my mouth,
but I guess they didn't hit.
I am not doing well.
Lately I can't sleep, can't think.
I try to get past it, but it is what it is.
I am not well.
Something is urging me.
I try to avoid it, but the blade calls.
I am well.
I have to be, because without me,
Everyone else would fall.
"How are you?"
"I am well."

I don't know why,
but for some odd reason
there are pools of water
that want to be released,
but I refuse.
Because, if I give in-
If I let them flow-
then they won't stop,
and I'll be forced to give myself real pain
A sting of a blade,
flitting across pale skin.
A lovely scarlet color
dripping from within.
I'd have something real to cry about.
That's all I want: something real.