when people ask you what's wrong,
you cover it up with "I'm just tired"
but your not tired.
you wish they didn't believe when you'd say that.
you scream for help but no one can hear you.
so you hide it.
beneath a thing layer of cotton.

your moms embarrassed of what hides beneath.
she says you have mental issues.
so she puts you in counseling and on medication.
but non of it helps.
so you tie down all emotions.
say I'm fine when they ask.

at night your only so called friend comes out.

you play her on your wrist like a violin.
not knowing if this one will be too deep.
while blood rushes down your wrist.

its a release.

She plays violin on her wrists
Sinfully beautiful symphonies appear on her skin
Like paper sheets her blood will flow
With eyes determined on the price
She watches the last bit of her soul seep out of her wounds
A lonely sound escapes her lips
The last lonely sound she'll ever make
Now she's in a different place
And replaced the violin for clouds