How can you tell me to keep living,
when I'm so good at dieing?

I stick the razor in,
so deeply in my skin.
Releasing all the sh-it I take,
Somehow slowly stopping the ache.

To live this way I never asked
but around my friends my depressions masked.

*from a poem of mine, (depressions fire has been lit) plz read it*

My mascara is running...and yet i dont wipe away my tears..my face is blotchy...and yet all i can think about is why i'm not good enough for you....

Why are their so many expectations to live up too....why cant i just live for me?...

Baby its not the end of the world,
its just the end of the world we used to share.

"What was Captian Hook's name before he had a hook for a hand?"

I used to be schizophrenic, but we're OK now.

If you love me, let me cut

Cutting is the only thing that keeps me living…so why are you trying to make me stop?