I’m tired, I wish I could sleep more.
I went to the bathroom, I looked in the mirror.
I practiced my fake smile, I might need it today.
Black clothes are my favorite, I put a black band t-shirt on.
I put my hair up, I look in the mirror again.
I see a broken hearted girl with parents who don’t love her.
I want to die; I don’t want to fight or struggle anymore.
I wanted to get away from my parents, I still do.
I don’t want to keep moving around.
I feel like a piece of furniture that people buy and then later sell.
My birth-family didn’t want me, my adoptive parents don’t want me do they?

I blame myself for taking my father’s life away.
I’m sorry daddy, I’m sorry I had to be your little girl.

Little girls and little boys bundled up in promises and loving hearts.
Teenagers struggling to survive.
Suicide is the killer; teens think that’s the best way.
I can’t really speak for all teens though.
I wasn’t bundled up in promises that were going to be kept.
I had a loving heart but it is broken now.
Suicide isn’t my killer, although it might have been.

I see people walking around like zombies.
The people have dark, empty, sad eyes.  
I never thought I would be one of those people, but I am.
I’m not sure when I became this way.
I’m not even sure if I want to stop being this way either.

He knows the risks; he still doesn’t care.
He has two little ones and a wife to think about.
He is a pretty good guy; he has always been there for me.
A lot of good memories with him, he has helped a lot.
He won’t wear his seatbelt though.
Does he have a suicide wish?
I want to say something to him.
I don’t want to lose him.