If you knew.

If you knew about all the scars I made and saw, would you still make jokes about it?

I you knew how depressed I was, would you still say to me that I go to my room and cut?

If you knew how much pain the loss of my uncle was, would you still laugh?

If you knew how terrible the life of my niece was because she is mentally not well, will you still say that my whole family is crazy and sick?

If you knew how much I cried, would you still laugh in my face?

If you knew how much I fighter to live, would you still tear me down?



I am still wishing for the excitement to arrive in my life.
It’s just I’d rather be causing the chaos, then lying on the sharp end of the knife.
My cuts are healed with time.
Comfort will rest on my shoulders, the day I can bury the bad past.
And leave it all behind.