I cry in tears of red

I cry in tears of red.

People don't understand.
They look at me and stare
at my arm - at the pink and white scars
of shame.

But I don't feel shame.
They are my battle scars;
they reflect the scars on the inside,
which no one but I can see.

I cry in tears of red
because I can't cry normal tears.
I take the blade to my arm
because I have no other outlet,
I have no other way to sense the relief
of life's stresses.

I do this to myself because I am sick;
because I have an illness
for which I take a handful of pills a day
just like a diabetic takes his insulin.

But people don't understand,
and are afraid,
and turn their backs on me.
I have lost many friends
because they don't get it,
and think I am going to kill myself.
That I want to kill myself.
But I don't.
I am just doing what I need to
in order to survive.

That's the irony of it all!
I cut myself to live,
because when I cry my tears of red,
just like when you cry your clear tears,
I get that release, and soon things seem better,
if for just a moment.