I don't want to have to pretend to be happy, I just feel so ******,All i am is a wannabe poet and you know it, my pain i try not to show it but it all comes out when i put pen to paper, i fight the pain i take a blade a slit my wrist Then i aim my fist at the wall Punching till my knuckles bleed, I have a lot of troubles in my life, But i they go away when i have that knife cutting into my skin, and i want to be thin so i starve myself and purge, all that is left is the urge to hurt myself Or to insert that blade into my flesh ripping myself to ribbons, and i know i won't be forgiven for my sins, there's so many things in my life that i could do without,and it looks like im out of luck, but i couldn't give a **** this pain i'm used to it, it's over for me