The urge.
The urge that creates an itch.
An itch deep under your skin.
I reach for the scissors.
The scissors I keep hidden in my room.
Hidden so no one will know.
No one will know the pain deep inside.
The pain that is so intense only a blade can reach it.
Slowly I cut, cut away the pain.
As I cut everything starts running through my head.
All the yelling and fighting.
All the times you told me you didn't care, but if you would just take time.
Take time to understand.
Take time to listen to all the pain I suffer.
Maybe then you would understand.
Until then I clean up the blood that is dripping down my arm.
I cover my cuts with band aids and wear long sleeves.
I'm covering up the pain that you will never know about and never understand.
Then I stick on my fake smile.
My fake smile that keeps me going.
