Painting a Picture

I swear that no one know how I feel.
No one knows my pain.
I hate when people tell me to get over it.
Why would you tell me that?!
You don't know that I was the last to talk to him!
You're not the one who is filled with regret.
He left, and didn't even tell me goodbye.
He's gone and it's coming back.

I can't believe that you think you know me.
You don't know my life.
You can't tell me that I'm fine.
The pain, it hurts badly.

The pain, it manifests in my heart.
It starts out with a slight tear,
In the corner of my eye.
Then the memories come back.
Suddenly I'm back in your house, and you're smoking.
The smell is coming back to me.
I see your smile.
I'm crying harder than before.

Unconsciously, I gripped the blade harder.
I already made one cut, what if a few more ended up on my wrists?
No one cares.

I don't feel the pain, my pain.
There's blood on the blade and in the sink.
It's staining my white shirt.
It's like a painting,
An unfinished product that I keep working on.

There's nothing left to live for.
He was my best friend.
There's nothing left.
My grandpa.
Nothing left.

Sometimes I put the blade down.
Sometimes I don't.
Sometimes I feel loved.
Sometimes I don't.