The Price Of Depression

Red stands out,
Against pale crimson,
I see now depression,
Always wins the fight.

Blood runs down,
Along my arm,
I love this pain,
I love this harm.

Cuts look like scrapes,
But you cant tell,
If you really saw them,
You'd know I'm in hell.

Some on the stomach,
Some on the knee,
They remain hidden,
So no one will see.

My feelings are strange,
My cuts sting,
The pain is tangable,
A living thing.

Pain whispers to me,
And feeds me lies,
I hide my suffering,
I hide my cries.

So I take to a blade,
And let the blood pour out,
It runs with the blade,
And no one will hear ne shout.

This pain shows,
On my skin,
The cuts are deep,
Happiness is thin.

Ill soon lose it all
No happiness or hope,
I'm sorry but cutting,
Is just how i cope.