It's funny how,

a simple cut can end your pain.

At least for a little while.

It's cute,

how people pretend to care when they see the marks on your arms,

the tears in your eyes.

You need all the help in the world-

the cuts fill your arms like writing on the paper of your suicide note,

blood staining every inch of the dress you carefully chose as your parting clothes,

a soft ballad playing in the background,

serving as your dirge.

But no one is there.

No one to help you,

to tell you it's okay,

even if it isn't.

No one to rush you to safety,

No one to care.

It's interesting how,

even if no one cared about you in a previous life,

they all fake frowns at your funeral.

And it hurts,

to know that the one thing it took for people to notice you,

is taking your own life.


The End

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