I'm used to this feeling,
the loneliness.
Asking me why, I'm lonely.
he's not here to hold me,
in this lonely place.
When this feeling comes,
The razor comes out.
my wrists bleed.
I end up crying,
hoping I won't awake,
from this, my dream.
Dying in the inside.
Jul 4, 2013
Jul 4, 2013 at 12:22 AM UTC
I'm used to this feeling,
the loneliness.
Asking me why, I'm lonely.
he's not here to hold me,
in this lonely place.
When this feeling comes,
The razor comes out.
my wrists bleed.
I end up crying,
hoping I won't awake,
from this, my dream.
Dying in the inside.
any ideas?
