February 17
Well today's my birthday.
Another lonely day locked in this room.
Being trapped in my own skin.
Looking in the mirror and seeing how well you don't mix with this world.
Well I'm 15 now. Not much has changed i still think about death, and i still stare the razor down it always seems to beet me. Sleeping late is the only think I'm not failing.
I don't know why i think about death so much I don't know why suicide is my number one thought in the morning, mom says its shock dad says it'll get better the doctors say I'm bi polar, my therapist tells me i need to move on. Nobody understands and i don't think i do either.
Trauma, Pain, Blood, Hate
Thats my life theres not much more i can take.
Ive left it all but its pulling me back and I'm going down.
Sorry to my family i never meant to make you waist your money i know thats the only thing you ever cared for.
Its funny if you think about you ignored the signs the blood and the long sleeves and the missing razors.
