I promised to stop.
I did.
Now,
I cut again.
School.
I don't tell her.
She doesn't ask.
She doesn't know.
Does she care?
No.
Why?
Because she doesn't know.
Sweet secrecy.
Do I feel alone?
Yes.
Does it matter?
Not really.
Why?
Because she doesn't know.
Just me
and my knife.
We,
us,
me and my knife.
I can live with that.
Can she?
Oct.-25-09
Heart of Ice Die Die Die
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/again-97/
