How does one forgive, the thoughts she thinks while her lips were on his? How does one forget, the thoughts he thinks when he's been unable to sleep?

I just need to cry, I just want to die, I just need some help. I just want to **** myself.

It's like the things that I write, don't sit quite right with the people I idolize., it's like the things that I write stay out of sight, and are never truly recognized. Though they cut like a knife, spread bare my insides, show you just what it's like, to be living a life, where you already have died.  Bare witness to my demise, it will end as a suicide in the future sometime, to that I testify.

Smoking cigarettes again, haven't got much chance at anything I can barely think. As I lay here on, my, bed. Listening to the very music that makes my heart stop dead.
Stuck on death, solving all your problems with a slit of your wrist; wondering how you ever got like this. Is it really cause your mother drinks? Or because it'd "always work out" when it never did.

I love the way your scent, intoxicates my every breath,
Or maybe how your perfume, always lingers on my bed.
I love it when you let me in, with your warmth on wintry nights,
Or maybe how you touch my heart, and send shivers down my spine.

The sound of snow, and cold, falling over this town as a story unfolds. A story of snow, and cold, and how two hearts so close had so slowly froze.

Again I feel the need to cut open my own skin. Again I feel the need to bleed for the things that you did. Again I can't control this beast within, a hate in my heart that can't help but win. So I'll take out a blade and cut it all off, I'll bleed this all out just to make it all stop.