Every single time I 'accidentally' showed my cuts or bruises, I was hoping
Every single time I showed up to class with red eyes and a blotchy face, I was hoping
Every single time I was quiet, I was hoping.
Hoping someone would say I needed help
Someone would take me to a doctor
Would take an article of clothing off and show me their battle scars
Say "You're not alone."
I spiraled deeper into the problem
A cyclone of hate and suffering
Friends diapered, with thoughts of unspeakable things
Why should I bother living if I have nothing left to live for?