I don't act anxious, Even though my stomach hurts, And my breathing is off, And my heart is racing, And it's so hard to keep in my emotions.
I don't cut myself open with a razor. I don't have enough guts too. But I rip my skin apart. Every small bite I have becomes a larger and larger scab. Until it's a deep scar upon my skin.
I'm not on dating sites. Even though I wish for companionship. I don't know how to talk to someone. I'm too shy. But I won't even admit that in person.
I'm different. That's why I will never be able to get help. Or have a normal body. Or have love.
It hurts. That I have accepted my fate, Of being alone. Forever.