You've been there for me
since the start of junior high
You've watched me as I smiled
and you comforted me when I cried.

You write better than I do,
your poetry soft and quaint
You draw with such lovely style
whether it be pencil, marker, paint.

I used to hate you touching me
but now I find I crave it.
I love the way I feel about you
although I don't understand it.

I devour each one of your poems,
love that simple poetry
so perhaps you'll try to think it's fine
when I pretend they're all written for me.

I wish I had the courage
to pull a knife across my skin,
I wish I had a way
to keep the hurt from seeping in.

I wish I could wash the sink
and watch water turn red
covered up with band-aids
as to not stain sheets on bed.

I wish I could look at the scars
spidering up my arm,
I wish I could be brave enough
to do myself real harm.

But then I think about my friends
and it seems a sin
to try to hurt myself at all
it's really giving in.

I sharpen a wooden pencil,
whilst they sharpen a blade,
I open up a one-subject notebook,
they roll up their sleeve.

I press the graphite to a page,
and they against their skin,
And their relief comes in as blood,
while mine only comes in ink.

Oh Lucy do you feel the bugs
crawling beneath your skin?
Oh Lucy what should I say
to your teachers and your kin?

Oh Lucy you were such a fool
or maybe some'd call it brave,
But then I feel so awful
when I want to kick your grave.

Oh Lucy why'd you pay that money
and why'd you take those pills,
Oh Lucy you should've come to us
if you were looking for cheap thrills.

Oh Lucy as you wasted away
did you enjoy seeing me cry?
Oh Lucy I'm so mad at you-
Why'd you have to die?

Oh Lucy why'd you speak that "yes"
and why did you give in?
Oh Lucy was that great sky worth it--
just to see the diamonds?

Oh Lucy you never said good-bye
You never even waved
You never realised what a glorious gift
your life, God to you, gave.

Oh Lucy dear I miss you so,
why'd you go and do that?
Oh Lucy without you I don't think I can cope--
Oh Lucy won't you please come back?

Sometimes I get the desire to cut
and long to feel the pain,
but then I remember how I get with blood
and how my reasons seem so vain.

I know lots of girls who cut
and ask them how they do it,
for it's such a brave feat to undertake
but they say there's nothing to it.

They're not afraid of blood loss,
or ripping apart their skin,
to have this be your only escape
what predicament could they be in?

So simply think of a time when you were bad
and about the pain you deserve,
and with each precise, thin, clean cut
your guilt goes away, unheard.

And then when ****** gaps close up
and the healing's coming far,
then you'll have some company to keep
for it's now and your scars.