3 words

The pain gets a little worse
as the cuts get a little deeper
my mind runs in continuous circles
as my body gets a little weaker

My smiles are always fake
and life gets a little depressing
i only sleep to dream of you
And inside I'm really stressing

I try to make things better
By living a complete lie
but the truth i feel
i really cant deny

I know that things wont get better
and that things are just getting bad
i know things that I'm feeling
are because I'm just "sad"

but now i sit here on the window
with a gun in my hand
I slowly raise it to my head
and pull the trigger, on command

As corny as this poem sounds
I really know its true
because before i said my last goodbyes
i never said 3 words to you