You claim you know me, but never saw me cry, and I cry alot.
You werent close enough, never felt my heart beat, most times it was silent, the times i felt dead inside.
You saw me that day, when I took those pills, you laughed with me, but didnt see the frown in my smile.
You never held my hand, they just needed comfort, someone who cared and, understood,now those hands, are ******,used to be blood, but now ****** in ink.
A story of an ex cutter. She had a best friend who never saw her depression. Now she still faces depression but uses her hands to write poetry instead of cut.