My wounds re-opened once again.

I lie and watch them bleed.

You promised to kill this self-hate,

And then planted the seed.

Each little joke cut into me,

So that I nearly died.

So why don't you just cut my throat,

So I no longer cry?

Can't bear the weight of all this stress,

And I feel so alone.

I'm lost so deep within myself,

I do not feel at home.

The scars from years of work and pain,

Torn open, raw and red.

I cry to you for morphine,

But you throw me salt instead.

My blood drips down onto the ground,

In tiny crimson stains.

I'd rather have a quicker death,

Through one quick crimson rain.

I find I'm being tortured,

And not granted a quick death.

But if you truly loved me,

You'd grant me my final breath.

You're having too much fun with me,

And you don't seem to know,

That with each lash you lay on me,

The wounds can only grow.

I'm scarred and ugly, so in pain.

You've made me so grotesque.

I can never escape from this,

And have to wear a mask.

What living soul could love me,

This unpure, repulsive thing?

I'm so deformed they can't believe,

I was once a human being.

You throw me in this prison,

So no eyes can see me there.

I can't cry that I'm innocent.

I'd shout at only air.

I got into a fight with my best friend when I wrote this, andI was really mad at him. I've never showed him the poem because I thought it would make him feel bad...and it almost looks like romance poetry. When you think about it, that's kind of scary. Oh, well. I like it.