This is not a cry for attention,
I am not seeking your pity.
I don't want you looking at me differently.

I have chosen this path of destruction,
no outside influences, but my own.
This is my form of release.

These dark, melancholic words,
plastered everywhere, where everyone can see.
Cover up the true scars, hidden within.
In a place where no one has seen.

I do not mean to trouble you, or worry you.
You do not have to read.
These poems, these scars, these feelings bleeding out,
is just my form of release.