You're so busy with everything else. It seems like you don't really want me anymore. I'm starting to believe it, too.
It's not like anyone else wants me, why should you? Why would you?
No one here wants me. No one here cares enough to ask if I'm okay when they see the scars on my wrists.
Not one damn person has noticed. I don't go out of my way to hide them, either. Sometimes I wonder if there's a point to the agony.
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