This (cutting has led me to it)

This book is a book,
of regret and pain,
my life now dead,
my soul you slain.

this pen is a pen,
of good and destruction,
the good is to write,
destructing at night.

this life is hurt,
this heart is torn,
this arm and that,
are covered in scars.

this pencil writes ,
what no one knows,
and only my scars,
are left to be shown.

this pain feels so great,
yet so not,
the hurt i love,
but the blood wont stop.

this blood that covers,
the bathroom floor,
is not blood,
but oh so much more.

its my life,
its my soul,
its my body,
falling through this hole!