They screamed at me
for not crying my heart out, 
but when I wept
I was too loud.
So, I picked up the knife
and handed them my wrist,
I begged for mercy 
as they continued to slit.

They yelled at me
for never pleading for help,
but when I asked
I wasn't a child, 
that needed to be held.
So, I showed them the wrist 
and screamed out loud 
with Blood, Slits, and Tears 
that made them Proud.

.    .    .