Bleed Poem by Breanna Bates

Why does everyone look so damn perfect?
Im fifteen and I feel really nervous.
There's a guy and he loves me so much,
But I can't help but have this razor in my clutch.
I cut my wrists just to have hope,
And I feel like I have no other way to cope.
Its so hard for him to see,
What I let these diseases do to me.
I love him so much that its hard to breathe,
But I still sit here and make myself bleed.
I hate when I make him cry,
It makes me want to cut my wrists and die.
Stranded between relapse and recovery,
And I know he believes in me,
So I throw away the blade and choose not to bleed.