The Drawings

Whenever I'm sad, I get the knife.
And I start to draw all down my wrist. 
Sometimes I want to get out of this life. 
I ball my hand into a fist. 
I punch the wall. 
My friends to to stop me.
I start to ball. 
My friends start to plea.

They see the drawings on my arms. 
That i cover up with my long sleeves. 
Their brain raises their alarms. 
And won't let me leave. 
Until I talk. 
About what's going on in my head. 
I can't walk. 
The drawings are red. 

The drawings are scars. 
I inflicted on my arms. 
I look up at the stars. 
And try to calm. 
Myself down. 
Until I feel alright. 
I get rid of my frown. 
And I make things Right