Scars On My Wrists

I have scars on my wrists.

The cuts,

Weren't deeper than the ones on my heart.

The knife,

Wasn't as sharp as all those words.

I was desperate,

To die,

To stop questioning myself

For a reason to my existence.

I wanted all of the drama to just stop forever,

I watched the blood gushing out of the cuts,

I felt light when it did,

It felt like I was letting go all the negativity.

I was happy, I fainted off

I thought it was a 'good' bye. .

I remember wakin

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g up to hospital scenes.

Doctors and nurses,

Rushing with medicines and drips.

I saw two pair of eyes,

Gazing through the glass doors,

With tears.

Man, I wish!

I wish I hadn't done this.

That moment I realized,

These scars weren't worth anything.

For I had thought not about the people,

Who stood by me in my ups and downs,

But the people who were mere passers-by.

The scars on my wrists,

They still hurt.

But now,

I look at them,

And smile.