They say "I'm here for you "
Are they ****.
Where are you? when I'm slicing my legs to pieces with a blade carving adjectives into my skin. Pathetic. Ugly. Fat

Where are you? When I'm crying alone picking out everyone of my flaws; like stars in the darkest of nights.

Where are you? When I need you most. When I felt like the whole world was against me, that's right you weren't there.

Where were you?when I felt alone like I had no one. No one cares , that's right you didn't either.

There for me is where you weren't. When I needed you; you weren't there. And I won't be here when I eventually pass away from the pain I inflict on my self. I don't feel anything anymore I'm already dead inside so I may aswell be on the out.

Eva came first, a tiny cloth bag
A tiny brown noose on the table will drag
A little red heart sown over her chest
We are one, together depressed.

After comes Lucas, a lover of Eva
He adds to the mix a slightly different flavor
He takes the scars with which I'm obsessed
We are one, together depressed.

Now there's Sally, a full-bodied doll
She can fit in the palm of my hand, she's so small
You can try to figure out who they are, be my guest
We are one, together depressed.

When most people see them, they call me a creep
You must be a voodoo artist, they all say like sheep
Not such a shocker that no one has ever addressed
That we are one, together depressed.

Think what you say, because sometimes it's needed
To keep me from death they have so far succeeded
Not often have I really expressed
That we are one, together depressed.

I don't understand
the human desire
for endless life.
For me,
Immortality
would be
a curse.
Eternity trapped
my thoughts?
No thank you.

When I grow up I want to be a builder
I can create happiness and love
But only for a while, it's so unstable.

When I grow up I want to demolish my buildings
I'm great a destroying relationships
And breaking my own heart.

When I grow up I want to be an artist
And draw strokes and lines of red
On my paper skin

When I grow up I want to be a writer
I can write stories of drama and pain
And of my own misery

When I grow up I want to travel
I want to go from life into death
And see the white light.