every night i sit on my bed
hoping, wishing i was dead
i sit here letting the blood from these wrists pour
though it hurts i keep doing more
i dont know why i do this
i just hold my breath and clench my fist
i act like the scars aren; t there
i hide them so you dont stare
it hurts so much
just with one touch
you'll read this and say what a shame
you might talk me out of it, myself i blame
i know this hidding cant last
but iv had a rubbish past
i'll just keep on crying
thinking, dreaming of dieing
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem