Slightly old poem I wrote. Yes, I know it's rife with angst and no, I do not cut myself.

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The razor leaves horrible scars
Time slows, and I知 seeing stars
Blood is pouring down my arm
My life is ending, with my self-harm
I知 growing frantic, my sanity breaks
I hope to dream, never to wake
At the funeral people ask why
Never knowing the tears I cried
Always behind a smile, they were easy to hide
I was the boy who was always alone
The boy who would hide, and always run home
No one took notice of my sorrow 'til the last
My horrible life, my horrible past