ignorant.

i go through my day, getting hurt throughout it, to go home and only ask about yours.
listen to you talk for hours before i can even get a word out.
i bottle up my end so you can explode yours.
then i listen to your voice as you go to sleep.
and thats when my day comes out.
in the form of tears and blood.
in exchange for cigarettes and vodka.
replacing meals with conversations.
every time my mother would find my razors just made me go out and buy new ones, better ones, sharper ones.
i wouldnt tell you that though, i would say im clean.
listening to you, my family, and people at my school make jokes about suicide.
you all knowing it affects me.
especially being in the hospital, fighting for my life.
how about complaining that i dont talk about it, you let me talk about.