Something Else

It doesn't matter,
I'm at a friends, I want to cut.
She leavers her room to talk to a boy.
I look for something to use.
Nothing, I find nothing to use.
I tried the scissors, but no matter how much pressure I put  on them it did no good,
I sit here crying, wondering.
What the hell do I do now?
 I ponder this thought for a while.
The pressure, the stress, I can't handle it.
There must be something else.
The intense little ripples of scarlet blood that form after you strike your arm with the bald,enters my mind.
What the hell is wrong with me? I'm wasting every ones time.
I couldn't tell you why I feel this way.
To many problems. Open my eyes, look outside, see what I can live for.
I don't wan to live.
I dry my damp eyes. I want to lay down and give in. Broken inside, nothing to hid.
Falling to pieces over something so small.
Stories aren't meant to rhyme. They say what we wont speak.

Reviews

[Lanke Doll]

It's not done. Thank you though.

[solo2be]

Excellent write, the emotion and pain behind this poem is raw and uncut. It like you can feel this poem.