These cuts on my wrists, this self-inflicted pain, this dark red liquid flowing from my veins, in some sick, twisted way, gives me the illusion that I'm okay.
It gives me the feeling that I can go on,
Letting some of the pain out through my blood.
These bandaids, although they cover up my scars, they don't solve the underlying problem.
How can you be so sure that I will not try it again?
How can you ever trust me with myself again?
And if I'd succeeded, would you blame yourself for not knowing that I was dying everyday and you missed it?
All those times you asked me how I was doing and I said I was fine; you believed it.
Would you blame me for being weak?
All the while you've known me to be a strong woman, but I haven't been strong for a while now.
I have been struggling.
My thoughts have turned against me.
But I'm working on a new strategy, I'll come out of this; you'll see.
©grace101
