Stain Them Red

People call it depression
Because all i can do is cry
Broken and weak
All i want to do is die
Cold and hurt
In this prison called home
Cut and bruised
Am I really alone?
People stare at my wrists
And label me each day
I'm confused and hurt
In this bed i will lay
They call me different
They call me weird
They'll do everything to hurt me
I just want to disappear
My Dad's dying
My Mum doesn't know what to do
My Brother drinks non stop
I hear him screaming each morning at two
I'll just put my make-up on
I'll wear a mask
I'll fake my smiles
I'm good if anyone asks
I'll cover up these scars
I'll try not to frown
I'll try not to scream or cry
I wont make a sound
And when my days done
I'll Come home,lay on my bed
Two more cuts to my wrists
I'll stain these sheets,I'll stain them red