Thanks for ignoring me.
People always say how you can see someone’s pain through they’re eyes. But that’s not true, I mean it is to some degree, but my eyes are not what show my sadness, it is my smile and my laughter. How they echo the false cries of happiness. The screams of liars.
If you can see the pain in my eyes how can you not distinguish the falseness of my smile. Or the scars on my wrists.
I’ll tell you why, because I’m hiding it. I’m hiding the fact that I would rather die than let air into my lungs again tomorrow. I’m hiding the scars on my wrists […]
I refuse to consider myself suicidal, I merely enjoy the idea of my life ending. Although I am too cowardly to go through with it.
The idea of living in this awful place simply disgusts me to the point that It’s led me to cutting my arms and legs.
The worst part is, I have no reason to be feeling such feelings, my life is not hard, nor demanding, nor tragic.
Am I ungrateful for wanting to end it?