Sometimes I want to write.
Sometimes I want to cry.
Sometimes, I want to take it cut by cut.
Slit by slit, of my wrist.
Except that's not all that I want.
But I think of it.
And I want to cry, because
I act tough
And smile.
I act happy
And outgoing.
But really, I want to cry.
Sometimes even die.
Because every little thing in my life
It feels as if a building lost its roof,
And feels weak.
Even if it still has its foundation.
But I will hold that in,
Because my beams are still standing.
Sometimes I don't know what to write,
But that is my blood shed onto paper.
And I know that if I think about these actions that
I dont want to put
into reality,
I will write.
Sometimes the finished product
Isn't always good,
But
‘Bad poems show true emotions’
Between the lines.
These are my true emotions.