Red, the color of blood, the color of my nails.
I paint my nails red so the thought of my blood is already there.
I want to slit my wrists , and yet I'm still here.
Can you see the pain? Can you understand?
I was hurt I was dead.
I am dead, and yet I'm still breathing.
If I died, truly died would you cry? Would you miss me?
If I died would I cry? Would I miss being alive?
I have all these questions.
No one understands my pain.
I'm broken, and they guys who touched me, who hurt me are the only reasons why.
I could handle being called names, getting made fun of, all that didn't matter.
Until the day I died but I was still alive.
I cut, I stopped eating.
Nothing ever got better.
Is it me? Why am I like this?
The smile you see is just as dead as me.