Crying is not enough anymore. I'd like to swallow a knife or a burning candle.

She paints a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
Her paintbrush was her razor
And her canvas was her wrist

She paints a pretty picture
In a color that's blood red
And using her sharp paintbrush
She ends up finally dead

Her pretty pictures fading
Quite slowly up her arm
Blood no longer flows through her
She can no longer do her harm

Yes, she painted a pretty picture
But the story has a twist
You see, her mind was just her razor
And her heart was just her wrist

- Unknown

you asked me what love is today, little one.
I smiled and said,
love is your mummy and daddy smiling.
love is how we care for you.
love is the way we kiss.

I wish I could say that love
is always made up of comfort
and warmth
and a cherished feeling
spreading through your veins.
but it's not.
love is the tears stained into your cheeks.
love is the constant feeling of jealousy
because you can't bear anyone taking away
the only person who makes you happy.
love is sadness
love is broken
love is a knife
that twists in your stomach
every time he doesn't reply.

I wish I could say love was easy, little one.
It's not.
But it sure as hell is beautiful.

Have you ever cut yourself?
It somehow tastes metallic.
Even if you don't lick the knife.
There's a little blood.
Mixed in with a little pain.
That gives a little urge.
To do it again.

I was the one
with the world at my feet
one wrong step
it slipped away from me

I was falling
all the way down
deep into mud
and there I got stuck

I call friends to help me
but nobody cared
their hearts were so empty
they were glad I was there

The world needs some
people down there
someone to laugh at
someone to hate

It takes a long road
to get out of there
and there are shortcuts
to get you right back

Dear survivor
reading this note
I know you have problems
help is on the way.