you see,
that’s the problem
with being the strong one
who always offers others
a hand
everyone thinks that you
don’t need a hand and
they think you have lots
of surplus energy and no
worries

*(s.m)

I was hoping I would not have to come back here,
typing these pieces. emotions flowing from the tips of my fingers. I am once again broken. I have been fixed before, this time may be irreparable. I can't express with words how it feels to be trapped in your brain, screaming for help. No one hearing your cries and no one feeling your pain.

When i hear our song;
my mouth and eyes water simultaneously,
because i want you so badly that it hurts but i know i can never have you again.

I can't count on my two hands how many suicide notes I've written.
Some of them were **** near perfect; yet,
They seemed so angry.

Somehow even on my mental death bed,
I was still rewriting this note as some sort of apology to my family and friend.
Some sort of apology I wish someone would've given to me.

The sort of apology that you don't ever second guess. I had to get it right.

I want you to know that you ******* killed me.
I want to hurt you like you hurt me.
I hate you but I don't think I have it in my heart to break you the way you broke me.

I've been there,
I've gotten the bottle of pills.
Ever since, I've been waiting.
I'm not scared of dying,
I'm scared of getting caught trying to.

I am no longer myself.
I left that poor ******* the shelf.
Everyone wonders why she left.
But when she explains they all seem deaf.

No longer can she express happiness.
These things that's taking over...
She has to let it do its job.
She has no one to run to anymore.
The people she thought she knew so well
Has left her in the dark.
They left her with her heart shattered
And her hands tied behind her back.