Five hours since I got my sweatshirt back from you,
when I got a note, covered with the dripping tears of
a cutter.

I saw you.
You terrified me.
I saw your nervous glance toward me.
I could feel the malice in your eyes.
So I clenched my fist, just waiting for you to start something.
I was worried.
I left you.

Quit being such a **** child.
I thought you were different.






I was wrong.

My mother told me today
that I wasn't okay

I stayed silent, wondering exactly
what she was trying to pull from my angry lips

amazingly, she bought every lie I've already sold her
"It's fine, I'm just tired" [Guess I'm always tired then]
"I just fell, that's why my hands are cut" [I fall to often]
"My grades are my biggest problem" [I don't [can't] focus on them]
"Just leave me alone" [I want to sneak around and find the knives you hid from me]
"No mom, I don't know where they are" [There's actually a tub of meds under your clothes in the closet, I found them because I wanted them, but you trusted me with a hinged door. Fool]
"I'll see you tonight" [I plan on eating here and then leaving either to my room or to my home as soon as I can]

I found it.

My feeling for you.

For the silent calm of the snowstorm.

For the explosive silence of the thickets.

"Only know you love her when you let her go"

How about, "once your friend dates someone you thought you didn't like anymore and suddenly get really ******* jealous, even while you kiss your lover, maybe, just maybe you still like her."

It just doesn't have the same ring to it...

Two lines, visible on your right arm;
I kiss them every time I see you.

Not much else can be said about
two little lines, but I need to say more.

Two tiny lines that'll scar and fade away
leaving only a memory of why you

ripped open your arm because you felt
completely and utterly alone

because your own brother couldn't
do anything.

or say anything.
or stop you.

Even when he saw you create
those two bleeding lines.

I can see a world tainted by my blood
crimson or black depending on
where you stand
or how you see it

Ripping open old wounds hurts more
brings back memories
makes me awake
makes me bleed

its funny how blood can be running from your arm in a fountain of pain and yet people won't say a word because they don't know what to say
its funny that even though my arm hurts, i keeping picking at it to remind myself what it felt like 2 seconds ago

why do people seem to think
because they do Seem to think

because my arms bleed
i want attention
because my arms bleed
i don't want to share
because my arms bleed
i can't be happy
...

Nothing really hurts anymore.
Except for my crimson tears.