Young Writers Society

The fake smile gets easier to wear. Every day my body undergoes more wear and tear.
All I want is for people to see, that maybe you shouldn't always look up to me.
Yea I can be an idol, and you want to be just like I am, but I am just like you. I am a human too.
So please don’t count on me, because even I can be wrong sometimes. Even I want to just die sometimes.
I know most of the times I am strong, but every day I die a little more inside.

The people around me always want more, so at night when I go to my room, close my door.
I cry about my life and what more there is to come. I wonder if anything will ever be alright, those long and sleepless tiresome nights.

The cuts get easier and easier to hide. While I laugh and joke I am crying on the inside.
The people that hurt me don’t even seem to care, how and why would they?
They can’t see my screaming at the air. They don’t see the marks on my skin, the suicide notes that are piled in my bin.
They haven’t felt the long nights of being alone. They haven’t known what’s it’s like to be alone!
They always have someone they can go to, and yea now also I have that too.
But growing up like I have your life is hard. So I’m so sorry to everyone, I’m leaving. Here’s my card

The people around me always want more, so at night when I go to my room, close my door.
I cry about my life and what more there is to come. I wonder if anything will ever be alright, those long and sleepless tiresome nights.

It’s been 8 years since I first cut, since I first put knife to skin and drew my own blood.
Since that first incision all I wanted was more, the nights when I was alone on my bedroom floor. With a knife in my hand ready to end it all, then I would realize the truth and slowly crawl.
Back up to my bed where I would curl into a ball, and pray for safety and self secural.
Everything I've felt and everything I know, it all acts out in the things I have to show.
The scars are all faded but the pains still there. I still have those nights when I pull at my hair.
It all just seems hopeless and I don’t really care. So yeah, here is my last, the final breath of air.

The people around me always want more, so at night when I go to my room, close my door.

I cry about my life and what more there is to come. I wonder if anything will ever be alright, those long and sleepless tiresome nights.