I'm just so tired. Sometimes I need help. And I swear I reached out. Well, I'm wrong. Like a fool I keep thinking maybe this time someone would help. Something would change. I reached out, I swear. Right now I'm having a battle with myself to end it or keep thinking of the few people that I'm thinking would be affected.
Fuck your feelings
What about mine? WHY AM I ALWAYS BE THE ONE THAT HAS TO KEEP MY CALM? WHY AM I ALWAYS BE THE ONE THAT HAS TO CARE ABOUT OTHERS FEELING? WHY AM I ALWAYS BE THE ONE THAT HAS TO SUFFER IN SILENCE? WHAT DO YOU THINK I AM? FUCK YOU. FUCK YOU ALL AND YOUR FUCKING FEELINGS. HOW AM I SUPPOSE TO HEAL IF THIS KEEPS ON HAPPENING?? ITS JUST ONE SCAR AFTER ANOTHER The irony of me stopping myself slicing my own hand because there is no more space to mark. Who would've thought that my heart has more space to rest my scars than my fucking skin.
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