People think I’m lovable and my friends think they love me.
But none of them know about all the blood running down my right arm, or all the years of scars. They don’t know about my prescription drug addiction or all these empty bottles. They don’t know how often I cry and how I find it absolutely impossible to love myself. If they saw me for everything I am, dripping in pain, self loathing and loneliness… I wonder what they’d think of me then