The scars that you will never see
On my poor little wrists
Are scabby and jagged
Not cared for or bandaged
The blood runs free
Out of my tortured body
In a way I am sorry for it
It must go through what my soul decides
My body is a doll in which I am in charge
I cut it and bruise it
That is my pleasure
My obsession
To feel the physical pain
That distracts me from the real pain
That i feel inside
It numbs me for what I live for
Like every other being....death
It prepares me for what I will face
You don't pay attention when I am so obviosly in pain
I sulk around gloomily day after day
Rubbing my sore wrists and flaunting them in front of you
You notice nothing
You're unaware that I torture myself each night when I shut my door
If you really did care
You would have noticed already
And that is all I need...
Just to be noticed.
 
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