Not so perfect

I go everywhere,
with my cover on,
tell myself i am happy,
i should pull the other one.

every one thinks,
perfect is my life,
they don't know,
it involves a knife.

they come in again,
with alcohol breath,
push me around,
punch me to death.

and once again,
i end up on the floor,
covered in bruises,
my body all sore.

a single tear,
leaks from my eye,
i brush it away,
i shshouldt cry.

instead i go,
upstairs and reach,
for my scissors,
a lesson me teach.

i sit on the floor,
depressed to core,
I'm thinking of the first time,
and i remember.

the chill as he,
removed my clothes,
touches every inch,
pulling me close

why did he do this,
to me only,
was he doing it,
to help me see?

how much i deserve it,
he said as much,
that i was bad,
he wouldn't let go his clutch.

so you see all this?
it's going on now,
thats why i might have,
been acting low.