The pain welled up inside me, until I couldn't take it any longer. I sliced through my skin like it was nothing, like a piece of paper. The blood flowed out of my cut, and into the sink. I watched as it ran down the drain, As more blood poured out. I put the razor down and cried, "What am I doing? This isn't me!" I had never done this before, But now it's a part of life. Whenever I can't take the pain, I just pick up an object, sharp. Slice through my skin, And watch the blood. The scars are all over, They cover my flesh. Few know the truth behind them, Only those I can trust. I hate these scars, Just like I hate this pain. Neither one will ever go away. So now I'm stuck, With both scars and pain. The scars I've made, Made nothing better. Thet're just a constant reminder, Of all the things people do. If I could, I would take them back, And never have started, On down this path. But my choice has been made, I must live with my decision, And the scars that came with it.