My life is rotting like a flower.

A flower may rotting and still smell sweet.

My bestfriends want to hurt themselves.

So do i.I.

Yet I have to act fine.

Im good at it.

Because when people make me "happy"

I cant stop.

Like I can't stop hurting me

6 days 17 hours since.

Keep me away from pencils.

But then how will I write?

Im rotting like a flower.

But all you can see is the sweetness of my smell

Rotting...