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Dear Diary,

I wrote yet another poem

Colorful Hands

I try and try,
as hard as I can,
Though I did not cry,
It was all in the plan.

I reached in my pocket,
I took out the knife,
It took away my pain,
It took away my strife.

These tear I shead,
These tears of Color,
Drip down my palms
That would make other people shudder.

When I got mad,
My mind did race,
I cut up my arms,
and carved out the eyes on my face.

I drew a line downmy body,
From my neck, to my knee.
These lines I draw,
Carve me out, Of the person I wan't to be.

I look at my body,
All quivered and srewed,
In the mirror,
I do not know that face,
That face of pain,
That stares back at me.

Though I did not shead a tear,
I did nt anything gain.

I look at the people surrounding me,
Their faces show their strife.
There sorry faces look down on me as I trugde by.

Will these people get to know me?
All I need is a little help,
So I could tell my self that somebody cares...


A.╚.R.