Why?
When?
Why?
Where?
Why?
With what?
Why?
They asked me these questions when they found out.
They found out in South Carolina.
On our way to Georgia.
They found out on our way to my Grandmothers Funeral.
They found out in Bojangles.
Thats how they found out.
I didnt want them to find out.
But he saw.
He saw the scars on my arms.
He saw the moments in my life when i was at the lowest points.
The lowest points i had ever been at.
Casue thats what those scars are.
My worst memories.
The moments i wish had never happened.
The moments i felt as though i was alone, as though no one cared.
The moments i did the thing most people make fun of.
The thing that i never thought i would do.
When i picked up that razor.
Drug it across my wrists.
I watched the blood come out.
I stumbled back.
I sat down.
And i cried.
I cried for all that had gone wrong in mys life.
All that had gone against me.
For every time i had been hurt.
Every time that something went wrong.
Every time it was my fault.
Every time that i wanted to die.
Im sorry about this.
Im sorry for being alive.
1 comment:
It's pretty screwed up when you feel guilty for just being alive. And it's pretty screwed up when you do something that people make fun of and think is nothing, and you become one of those "cliche emo kids". And it's pretty screwed up when the only way that you can make yourself free, and feel in a way that makes sense is to make yourself bleed. And it's really screwed up when you start to think that maybe that's the only way you can survive, make it through the day. I don't know. I guess we're pretty screwed up, huh?
Post a Comment