Sitting here in a world of pain, from all the torture.
I stare, and in the distance, something sharp peaks its head.
Shiny, yet dull, smooth, yet sharp, pictures flood my mind of horror.
I pick it up, and pictures begin to flash, me, lying there, motionless, dead.
I hold it in my hand, and, has hard as I can, I begin to drag it across my arm.
The blood begins to flow, uncontrollably, but agreeably.
Carving, drawing, writing, doing so much, TO MUCH harm.
All while screaming at the top of my lungs, 'Why aren't I suitable?!'
You came along, saw the hurt, saw the flaws.
You helped me from the start, told me you loved me,
And I am left in Awe.