I look at my thumb,
Remember how it looked yesturday,
Painted red with blood,
Turing brown as it dried,
Feeling guilty,
Knowing I failed my duty,
To stop the blood loss,
Cutting against wishs of others,
My friends ask
"Are you ok?"
"Sure" I reply,
And again they ask,
Soon enough,
They find the truth,
And they worry,
And they scold me,
Soon I am crying silent tears,
Wanting to punish myself,
Because I was selfishly glad,
That my friends cared and worried,
So the cycle goes on,
Cutting myself as a reprimind,
My friends find out and worry,
And since I like the worry, I feel guilty. |
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