What They Dont Know

All they can see, is a fake little smile
And as they laugh, all the while;

They don’t see the things, I do to myself
They think these things are bad for my health

I strike on the match, and the fire blazes high
I can hear my skin sizzle, on the side of my thigh

I lay in the snow bank for hours, seeing the moon start to wane
Hoping the frost-biting ice will start to numb this sharp pain

I bend over and puke, more than three times a day
The foul stomach acid, slowly eats my throat away

I stay up till four, almost every single night
And do a couple hundred crunches under my lamp’s dull light

I watch as drops of blood plunge out from under the knife
And sit down wondering, will I make it out alive?