As tears run down my face,
I feel my skin stinging.
What if I've gone too deep?
Is this the end?
As my hand brushes against my thigh,
A handprint of blood left behind.
Instead of fake tans like other girls,
I have the tint of blood on my skin.
Could this be the end?
As I write to my Friends, Family, Everyone,
I apologise for everything I've done.
I regret not fixing things when I had the chance.
I wish I reached out before it was too late.
I feel like my end is looming closer.
As I lay in my bed thinking of tomorrow.
I think about how fake I have to act.
How a fake smile must be plastered on my face,
Even when the fabric on my clothes rubs on my wounds making me wince.
I feel like I can't tell anyone, I'm too scared of judgment.
The end is closer.
As I get ready and look in the mirror,
I think 'Why am I so ugly? '
'Why am I so fat.' '
'Why do I always eat so much? '
I look at myself and see an ugly blob.
People may tell me I'm beautiful but I don't believe them.
I can't believe them, I've tried.
The end may be around the corner.
As I leave the house a sense of insecurity hits me,
I'm scared that people won't like me.
That they will find me annoying or I'll do something wrong.
I am a person, I can't always do the right thing.
I'm not programmed, but I wish I could be.
I'm afraid people will judge me.
That they are talking about me somehow.
Even if I have never met them before.
I can see the end.
As I finish writing my letters,
I cry, not for myself.
I cry for the people around me.
I'm ruining their lives, the grief they will feel is unimaginable.
I can't explain why I have decided to go through with my plan.
I'm more worried about ruining the sheets than ruining my skin.
The scars don't matter anymore, it won't make a difference.
I don't have enough time to tell people how much I love them.
My time has run out.
This is my end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem