What do you do
when life feels like a needle
dragging across your skin
and there isn't much you can do
to quiet the sound
of fingernails on a chalk board
in your head?
I never thought I was sick,
never knew I was sick,
but I was sick.
It was a different kind of pain,
a kind very difficult to explain,
the kind that would tear
your paper heart to shreds.
I'm really no stronger than the rest,
my heart is made of paper too.
I'm just determined
to keep cutting mine new.
