You keep asking if I'm ok
But if you could even relate...

I can always fill my vise
With a razor blade slice...

I've poured out my blood on paper
And my soul into the words...

I write this with the blade
Slits across my wrist...

Dear Andrea,
So many wasted times...

Many nights spent crying myself to sleep
no one loves me anymore...

As the days pass me by my thoughts
Dwell on the blade that scared me...

Broken mirrors
showing broken...

Presence of mind and will of self
are the things i shelf...

What if after all I've been through?
I am turning into a demon like that which I had...

We must accept the pain
from the actions we take...

Why must every tear
be fraught with strife...