Use to pain

I look at my wrist,

See all the scars,

Then I think to myself,

Why?

It’s because no one’s there.

I grab the razor again, put it down onto my wrist,

Draw it across slowly but carefully,

I see the redness meet the paleness of my skin,

I do it again and again,

I sit on the floor.

I don’t feel the pain,

The sight of my blood makes me happy,

I want people to understand.

It’s because no one’s there.

I look at the puddle of blood on the floor,

I cry at what I have done,

I quickly mop it up so no one knows,

I run back to my room,

and hide,

I scream.

Why is no one ever there?

The reason I do this,

Is because it’s the only way,

Because no one was ever there when I needed them,

But I’m used to the pain,

It doesn’t hurt anymore.