Feeding Off Blood

I'm the fake red head with green eyes that hates conflict and sadness.

Though always seems to find herself in tears and washing away blood.

Sometimes when I cut to deep, I can see the inside of my skin, and I pull it open and hear little voices calling out for help.

I need a sense of hope. But what does hope even mean.

Is it to be happy?

Or for the strength to be happy?

Or the strength to pretend to be happy?

Society is killing me and making more scars.