I'm Not Who Everyone Thinks I Am

I don't really have that bad a life.
Two loving parents, a roof over my head, an education...

So when I compare that to homeless, starving kids, I suppose I'm very lucky.
So why don't I feel lucky?
Why do I feel like crying every day?
The only time I'm happy is at night.
When the razor cuts in to my cool, pale flesh.

I'm a sick person.