sometimes you're like homework
so confusing
and i just stare at you
absent-mindedly
hating you
yet you're important to me
it's so hard to finish you
and i lose inspiration every now and then
but when i get high as my grades
i come running back to you

i can't wait to graduate from school
get rid of this infatuation
we would be adults by then
and hopefully this mess will be sorted out

I want to **** myself
I want to know how it feels to be truly empty
I want to end with this with my hand

when I was a little child
I used to dream of days of happiness
days of being all colorful
now my days are just blue

"suicide is not the answer"
"this will be endless"

honestly
I don't care

stab push lift pour

stab push lift pour

a ghost of memories past

a small boy no older than 12

he had curly black hair just like mine

he had brown eyes just like mine

he looked just like me

but thats because he had a last name ... just like mine

this was no tragic accident

but a carefully crafted punishment of a young boys mind

and the piece by piece fragmentation of his soul

every hurtful word, every disgusted look, every should turned

slowly braided itself together to form a string of ideas

every moment of hurt, every memory of pain, every day of neglect

slowly looped itself around him and knotted everything together

as if it was a gift of a ticking time bomb, wrapped in images you wish to forget, topped off with a bow of stripped and flattened emotions , signed with a card that simply says ... **** yourself

they say no one is responsible for his death, and the kids who teased him said " I was just joking"

well here's the punch line, i wonder which one of you ran through his mind when he finally kicked the chair out from underneath him

he stepped up on that chair with his final words that should be as historical as "four scores and severn years ago" or as revolutionary as "I HAVE A DREAM"

and hearing his last cries would be like hearing a nuclear warning siren... a scream of an inevitable end

and walking in and seeing his body hanging there like a forgotten halloween decoration was as sickening and heart breaking as seeing a ******* painted in a synagogue

i still keep his noose and i keep it mounted on the front door like a wreath , as if to say

HANG YOUR PRIDE AND OFFER A HELPING HAND BECUASE IT COULD BE THE LIFE LINE SOMEONE NEEDS

please , from a father left incomplete because they are burying a part of me

stab push lift pour

stab push lift pour

I’ve written my suicide note disguised
Too many times in too many text messages.
I can’t understand why no one is trying to save me
When that’s exactly what I’m waiting for:
Someone to tell me that I need help.
Someone who doesn’t just listen,
But takes me to the hospital.
Because I can’t bring myself to drive with scars lining my wrist
Through traffic lights under the stars to the emergency room.
But I can’t swallow the number of pills, I lost track of count
To take me out of my misery either.
Kissing a bullet through my lips
Is too much noise and clean-up,
But at least I’d be gone; guaranteed.
Thoughts don’t guarantee anything,
But they set the idea in motion.
Thinking of my funeral from afar,
Watching everyone dressed in black,
Crying their mascara down their cheeks,
Almost would have me fooled that they care.
The very thought of imagining my own funeral
Makes me think that I might just be able to create it.

Cut your veins until blood drips
From your wrists to finger tips

One sharp knife to your skin
Full of sadness but contains a grin

Insanity is just the way of life
You realize as you hold that knife

Take another pill, no, perhaps two more
To go along with the last four

All mixed up with drugs and *****
To give a life you want to lose

Twenty stories higher to the sky
If you don't fly, you'll have to die

To everyone you know, you won't say 'goodbye'
Because those who made you cry .. are why you want to die.

The stitching creases on a blank canvas
A mindblowing beautiful pale coloring
Never showing justice to the beauty
As the canvas has already been covered
In permanent marking
That once made all stitching come undone
The depth the paintbrush had made
Was a cry for help
The markings of the painter showed anger
Not at anyone
But at himself
With no other solution
Your beautiful canvas has been destroyed
Yet rebuilt
With a story to tell with every marking.

My apologies leave a dry throat with a sting
Another and another fall from a limp jaw
Another from pale lips
And again from bleeding wrists
My apologies are written in blood
And spilling from one last kiss
Soaking into your skin
Sinking through the surface
And my apologies burst from my skull  as the bullet shatters my bone
And regret splatters across the wall
Written in blood is nothing but
**"I'm sorry"