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Death surrounds you
Everywhere you go
It’s lurking in the shadows.
Waiting for the right time.
Waiting for the right time
Waiting to punch and take your life away in a snap.
It’s planning
It’s stroking your head
Making you feel calm
While its stabbing you in the back
And you can’t seem to feel it anymore.
You close your eyes and take your last breath,
As it pulls you in a forever slumber.
Death is not scary.
Being alive is the real scare
A mental illness because our brains are not wired correctly.
Something that people won’t understand until they have it.
It make our days darker.
Like we see no color.
Some of us may see color,
But everything had a darker part of it.
Thats what we see.
We can’t see the beauty in things, in people, and most of the time, ourselves.
We cover our face in makeup,
We put on clothes that make us look “attractive”
We cut ourselves just because we need to feel,
And when someone doesn’t like us,
We change ourselves just to be “accepted”
We change everything,
Our clothes,
Our hair,
Our lifestyle.
And when someone asks us if we are okay,
We respond with I’m fine.
But when we feel strong enough to throw are the blades.
We become desperate,
We tear shaving razors apart to get to the blades.
We cry silently to ourselves.
We become numb enough to slice all our hopes and dreams away.
But when we stop,
We long for more.
The razor takes control of us,
Becoming our master.
And when people abuse us,
No matter if its Mentally, Verbally, or Physically.
It doesn’t hurt.
We stab our selves to become strong.
We think its going to make us strong but in the end.
It makes us weaker.
We feel like we can’t last more than a day with out it.
Another mental illness that give people a lack of interest in other things.
Anxiety one of the worst mental illness you can have.
Gives people no hope, no motivation to get their butts out of bed.
All you wanna do is look at the ceiling silently crying all hopes and dreams away.
And sometime you can’t even cry,
So you just sit there feeling numb.
Trying to make yourself cry because you wanna feel something.
Anxiety hold me hostage inside of my bed.
Anxiety makes me have no hope.
But I’ve learned how to turn to numbness, to being busy, and the busy by occupying your self doing something.
My busy, looks like laying in bed, watching t.v.
But when my mom left,
That busy changed.
It went from laying in bed,
To crying a little looking at old photos of they happy times.
My busy changed to wishing I had a different life.
And I told everyone I was busy because,
I didn’t want to be bothered.
I wanted to cry.
I wanted to feel something.
But those people that gives us hope.
We thank.
We want them in our life constantly.
Just like me.
My person lives in Ohio.
We video chat everyday,
We talk daily.
So my happiness lasts for an hour.
Then disappears into the abyss.
But happiness doesn’t last a lifetime.
We have our good days and the dark days.
Everyone says “Just be happy”
They don’t understand the struggles of being happy
That we have to search for a while just to find it.
We have a lifetime of loneliness, sadness, grief, and envy.
That people with depression, agony, anxiety, and lust,
Are just “Acting out to get attention”
Or just “Are faking it”
But those comments hurt,
Just like a stab wound.
We love,
We lose,
We live,
We die,
We grieve.
And in the end,
We are just items of merchandise.
That we get sold form person to person,
To trust,
To love,
To die together.
But once the love dies.
We move on get sold to another,
And another,
Until new die.
Because love doesn’t last a lifetime.
the next time you'll see me,
would be attending my party
as I am lowered slowly
while everyone says they're sorry
to the smiling me.
The Day I’ve finally accepefed that I wanna die

As they say no one can see depression
No one can surely say that he or she can feel you
It’s like a gift that surprises you
It may **** you or be happy that everything you feel will eventually go away

I knew I wanted to die when I started searching for ways to **** myself I found it the simplest way to die without anyone knowing, overdose from simple painkillers I could easily end my life silently.
this is my last and final goodbye
as I write this I think of the times you made me cry.
with your hurtful words
and your loving smile to others
the leather belt that struck my back and left the open wounds
the hot iron on my arm when I talked back
and the fist against my skull if I did something wrong.
love me, to mom
abuse is not to be taken lightly
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