Her breath tastes of the cigarette smoke she once cursed you for having,
and now that you're gone she's been the one in need of putting the killing between her own teeth.
The smoke lingers on her clothes and body.
A  smell  she  once  deceived.
But you're gone.
And she no longer cares.

The four white walls,
could make anyone crazy.
I was just unfortunate to be one of them.

Trapped inside a room with no lock.
Trapped inside a mind set that’s unescapable.

She was only twelve years old when she picked up the first razor blade that would be used to ruin the innocence in her wrists.
Her body now filled of reminders of the days she had, had enough with the world.
A reminder of the failed attempts of making a cut deep enough to not recover from.
Five years have past and the scars have began to pile up.
The blade still yet to be set down for good.

and with every day,


i miss him more.