Screaming inside, no one can hear it,
I know when I die, I'll be a sad spirit.
Concealed with pain, I lock myself in,
whilst in the darkness I wonder,"is it a sin?"
The only friends I have, they say that it's stupid,
yet, behind their backs, I cry, I am wounded.
At first a dream, now suddenly real,
in summers I have to wait for my arms to heal.
Blood is spilt tears are shed,
Just a few inches lower and