I often like to lay; eyes closed among the ground, silent breaths, I make no sound. These are the times I myself wish that I would cease to exist. It starts getting lonely, your only friends are those marks on your wrists. I've been too busy hiding from others, but now I look around it's just me hiding under the covers. Under the blankets safe and warm, a place where dreams go to die. I feel unworthy of a compassionate touch the way it feels to hate my reflection, I'm the only person I can't love. I give second chances to everyone but me, it seems I myself is what's holding me back. Holding me back from being free