The Blood On My Arm.

All of these scars,that remain on my wrist.
Are memories.
Memories of pain.

The sharp pieces of glass,
Are what helped me the most.
They relieved my pain.
So I'm going to boast.

I cut.
Until the pain is gone.
And even then life moves on.

It's my little secret.
And no one will ever know.
I will hide my scars.
They will never show.

I say I won't do it.
But once again tonight, I do.
I cut and cut till the bleeding is thru.

The next day, I act like nothing is wrong.
But little by little.
The urge becomes so strong.
So once again I drag that blade across my arm.

I want to scream out.
I want to yell for help.
But no one will listen.
That's why the blood on my arm always glistens.