Confused

I pick up the razor with unsteady fingers
Raise it to my wrist and close my eyelids
I push down hard till the blood I see
A feeling of release comes over me

I dont know why I do it, and I wish that I could stop
I know it looks crazy but I know Im not
Maybe its because Im ill, anger is inside
I hate myself, who I am, cant run or hide

I dont want to kill myself, just perhaps suffer for a while
If only someone could help me, try get me to smile.
...Maybe things could change...

I put down the razor now, my hands are not sore
I open my eyes and tend to my cuts,
I feel no remorse. As I step out the door
I pretend like nothing happened, only God knows for sure