There are scars that I wear that are close to my smile, and the claws that gave them to me are close to your heart, and they have scratched you and torn you and left you for dead but you crawl back for more because she is still your friend. And I respect you for it. It makes me proud. I’ve written poem upon poem of how I wanted to fix the beast that gave me my scars, but I could never find it in my heart to go back for more blood. But you are kind. You love all. I get so ******* jealous of your happiness and I feel like something is wrong. Like I’m the burden, like I’m the mess. And we share the same friends but they like you more, and I’m just a tag along who is there for show, and if the unspeakable happens, and I’m left alone I don’t think that I will find any way to cope. I’m so ******* afraid of so many ******* things, but I’m too much of a coward to even tell you all of my fears. I don’t want you thinking that I’m ****** up in the head. I don’t want you thinking that I’m crazy. I’m not. I don’t hear voices in my head at all. I rarely hear the voices of my friends at all. And I don’t want to put pressure on you. I hope that you know that. I’m just over reacting to my little thoughts. I’m so ******* jealous of the smile you wear, but there isn’t a face I know that could wear it better.