11:21pm

I wonder if they know,

that beneath this smiling exterior,

I’m dying,

crying

screaming silently for help.

I wonder if they’ve noticed

the bleak and listless way I talk these days,

or how I don’t say a word at all 

have they caught on?

I wonder what would happen

if they see,

the cuts up my left arm,

when blade drew blood

like bees draw nectar from flowers -

would they help me

or call me crazy?

I’m trapped in the hell

inside my head.

I am not who I was before,

and the closer they come,

the more I burrow under my blanket

safe in the dark,

away from all the things

that have the power to hurt.