I'm not cutting because I'm mad at the world I'm not cutting because I like the color of blood I don't even cut at all I give myself bruises then poke them and relinquish the pain of life, Embrase the pain like a new born child. It is my release. My proof that life is here, bestowing it's worst things on me People may think I'm "happy" But that's only an act An act so that no one will worry about me Even if I hate the person, I don't want to weigh my nightmaric problems on others no one deserves this pain I feel The pain that the world is spinning The pain of having to make a choice, Then making the wrong one and living with it The pain that whatever choice I make, It wasn't mine, It was theirs, The one's I think I love But I know that they will never fell the same about me. The me everyone "knows" The me that hides everything The me that has more secrets than anyone The me that I hate, the one that pretends that the world is a happy place And that everything will be fine What kind of a theory is that anyway? Nothing is ever "fine" or "normal" in this world
XxkyorocksxX · Sun Jan 18, 2009 @ 04:33am · 1 Comments |