He told me:
If you want to cut yourself,
then you're going to take my arm
look me in the eyes
and cut as many times as you would yourself.
I told him:
I couldn't hurt you like that.
And then I understood.
Everything.
"Show me your scars," he said
"But... Why?" she asked quizzically.
"I want to see how many times you needed me and I wasn't there," he whispered, as a tear rolled down his cheek.
"How will you know I'm hurting,
If you cannot see my pain?
To wear it on my body,
That these words cannot explain
Tired of trying
Sick of crying
I know I've been smiling
But inside I'm dying