my scars run deep

this isnt realli a journal well it is but its kidna described in a poem...

This is a poem I have just recently wrote after my best friend in the whole world, Andie, has just committed suicide due to actions at school and everything else in the world. I got the letter he wrote. I was the one who saw it between my blue eyes. It hurtâ�¦ there is no more pain that could even cure me again.

I wrote this poem to him and placed it on his grave. Hopefully heâ�™ll look down from heaven and notice I am brave.

He helped me up when I fell.

Itâ�™s sad to hear the ringing of then soft singing bells.

He comforted me when I cried.

Why did this sad sorry soul have to die?

Its not as If I was messed up enough from the start.

But as im telling you about this boy that I knew.

The poetry that is now written is coming from the heart.

When I wrote this I felt something warm inside of me

I knew he was looking down on me now that he is free.

After I wrote it I read and read it through and through

Knowing that no one could ever feel my pain that he drew

I felt that because I was there I would be up for the blame.

I cried night after night as I read it in my bed.

I thought and thought more about: why canâ�™t he exchange me instead.

Why did he have to die? Why is he dead?

Iâ�™d guess Iâ�™d never know until I go to the same place where he lies free with the dead.

Here is my poem,

â�¦A boy I knewâ�¦

Thereâ�™s nothing I need more than my eyes and a knife

My eyes to start crying, the blade for my life

The blood as it rushes, evading my fears

Crimson the knife, flowing the tears

No one knows that I'm crying or knows that I'm hurt

The blood like a cancer, it spreads thru my shirt

I wish it would end, but I begged it would start

A mixture, confusion, my mind and my heart

I canâ�™t tell my friends, they already know

They say "for attention", that's lower than low

They think that its funny, they think I'm a toy

But I'm nothing more than a broken heart

Just a broken down boy

You call me an "emo". You laugh when I cry.

You giggled with laughter when I said I wanted to die

If you listened to me and heard what had to say

Youâ�™d see all the problems and hate on display

Knife breaks the skin, my eyes closing shut

In need of the pain, the rush from the cut

The blood as it oozes, drips down my arm

Another sad victim of stupid self harm

Firstloveslie's Journals

my scars run deep