We stood by your bedside
our hearts were sad and sore...
Death is nice
its better than life...
Small and sleek
makes me weak...
In my final thoughts after slicing into my arm for...
reading my books of depression as they dont help...
Lonesome are the flames burning bright,
Of serpentine ladies in nameless graves...
The Tragic Crash.
T he hands of justice pounded down on...
The heart is pounding more.
the aching of fear inside of her...
My mind is troubled
there's something I have to hide...
Never mind my broken heart,
The one you abused and tore apart...
Pull the trigger there it goes,
Blood all over her Sunday clothes...
Wax butterflies glitter in the air,
As the sun beats down upon...
A dark place
A shallow grave...