Death.

Death

Many people who do things, torture themselves with knives and blades and pills, there trying to hide them behind there pain. pain in there minds, pain in there heart. hiding by a smile or acting differently, somethings wrong. depression spreads though there bones, though there blood, as a pool of red drips onto the ground, asking for attention, behind cut arms and legs.

Things happen, it's just gods way of letting us know we're here and we live to life's fullest. by cutting and killing its not making the earth a better place. making a graveyard.

please don't take offense to that poem, just how i feel and just sounds good.