I don’t have depression,
Just a cloudy sky,
I don’t have recession,
Just times I’d like to die

They laugh at me,
Behind my back,
They talk about me,
Until my heart goes black,
Only when the flesh is rotten,
Only when the love has seeped away,
Only when I’ve reached rock bottom,
Only then will they stop play.

I don't do it for attention,
I don't do it for the pain,

I do it for frustration,
And the numbness that I gain.

I’m sick of fighting a war with myself,
Of being beaten back by life,
I’m sick of trying to protect myself,
Whilst my hand holds the knife

*taken from my poem: my war*

They say understanding comes with time.... but my time ran out

The false face must hide what the false heart doth know

*macbeth*

Life is like a marriage:

After the honeymoon the cracks that were hidden before suddenly begin to show

Sometimes I wonder why I try.
Why I bother.
Why I cry.
I know this love 'aint working, but still I make an effort.
Why?

Each new cut, shining so brightly on such scarred and deformed skin, just serves as a reminder of what a failure I am.

Blood for tears,
Cut to cry,
Always wondering,
Why I try.