Each Night

Each she sees a crimson river flowing slowly from her vein. In each drop an in-perfection, in each drop the need for pain.

She night she cuts a little deeper hoping this day will be her last, and every morning she's disappointed. Isolated in memories of the past.

Each night she cries into her pillow until she finally falls asleep. And just to think all of these problems, would be solved by a cut to deep.

Each night she sits up thinking of all the things that she did wrong. Of all the things that she'd do different if the moment weren't long gone.

Each night she almost kills herself with pills, rope, poison, knife; and she's happy yet sadistic that she could not end her life.

Each night when no-ones listening, when no judgment can be made; she'll remind herself of who she is as her masks begin to fade.

And she prepares them for the morning in case she physically to die. And this is how her life works, just a web of death and lies.