I can't handle the pain of losing you.

I never should have depended on you. Cuz now that your gone I don't know what to do.

If I told you I loved you, would you laugh? If I told you I was going to kill myself, would you smile?

Pressure starts to build in my head. Blood begins to pump faster. Breathing becomes a memory.

It really hurts to be me.

There's no surgery that could fix the pain inside.

Black nail polish represent my depression. They warn people beforehand what's wrong with me.

I want to be happy again.

I'm a danger to myself in the worst kind of way.

Ya know that feeling that creeps its way into your head when you least expect it? Depression.