Books by their cover

Pretending that I'm okay, is the hardest thing to do. 
Lying 'I'm fine.' It's really nothing new.
I may be young and innocent, I may look happy and proud.
I may look confident, but I panic in front of a crowd.
They may laugh, they may shout.
And you'll see me sit there and pout.
His eyes are dark and glum, the blood tastes as sweet as plum.
It fills my mouth until I choke.
And they laugh as if it was a joke.
Watching me drift off to sleep.
I close my eyes without a peep.
People watch me as I'm suffering.
I question if they are just buffering.
Wondering if I should just say goodbye.
But I think it's better to just cry and cry. 
Sighing, I just can't take it.
Every day I sit here and fake it. 
Blood sticks out my wrist.
Pain is my first kiss.
Death Is dark and gloomy.
It's also peaceful when the pain is booming. 
I can't control if it comes or goes.
It hits me like a flash and nobody knows.
It's the 'person' I can go to when no one's there and I'm alone.
It's been with me since the dawn of time.
It feels no longer like I'm fighting crime. 
It's comforting when I feel out of line.
It's not my friend or my foe.
It's just there, it makes me feel low.
It may not look good, but please don't worry.
But when I try, come in a hurry.
I'll be gone really fast.
No pain no gain.
I'll Just float away, away from past.

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