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I bear the cruel scars of unrequited love upon my arm

From minor slits to gaping wounds

The world outside me never knows the pain I feel

When each person I meet adds their cut to my arm

Why do I let them hurt me so?

So I will remember them, their faces, their names

When they, just like everyone else, fade away into nothingness

I can look upon their mark

You say I do this to myself

But look again:

It is not my hand that holds the knife to my wrist,

but the hands of those I love

Who leave their scars upon my heart

When they leave me

And you, too, will leave me

When you finish reading, your life moves on

No one ever stops to think how painful it is for me to see you go

So here is the knife:

will you leave a slit upon my arm

or stay with me a while?