It is considered weak to commit suicide
A terrible waste
The gift of life squandered
Keep on fighting
Never back down
You hear it every message movie and whatever's

But does anybody
I mean anybody even try
To understand the why?
Why would someone want to **** themselves
What could have happened to push them over the edge of sanity?

People don't just go around killing them selves for ***** sake
We're not some warped version of hidan following some killing cult called jashin

There is always a reason

What do I live for?
I have asked myself this question so many times I've lost count
And almost 90 percent of the time
I could find no answer
No reason to keep breathing
To keep living

Yet inside I've been dead
Emotionally dead
Not in a way that I feel nothing
Feeling nothing is a luxury I crave for
The problem is I feel too much
And I feel it killing me literally
Bit by bit

How do you live
When the very people you love treat you like the filth of the street
How can you keep going on
When every time, they break you
With their cruelty
Their words driving knives that keep digging into you flesh
Their bodies attacking you to a point where the slightest touch of flesh fills fear in your heart

What makes it worse is the bi polarity of it
Those rare moments of niceness terrify me more
It confuses me
It makes me believe that its all my fault

My fault that I'm hit
My fault that I'm filth
My fault again that they hit me
They do it because they love me they say
And as imperfect human beings their love is bound to have faults

But is it fair to me?
They have turned me into what I am
And now they hate what I've become
And what can I do?
All I ever asked for was to be loved
To be believed in
I'm not perfect either I've made one too many mistakes

But if you couldn't forgive
If you couldn't love
Then why in the world would you procreate?
Why the hell would you bring a child into this world if you couldn't love her when she grew up

You used her to vent your frustrations
She was blamed as the source of all your worldly problems
You hit her to feel better about yourself
Destroyed her will to strengthen your own
And when she cried
When she was in the corner shivering and fearful
You put a warm hand and comforted her
Told her it was her duty to bear it without complain

You drove her to insanity and back everyday
Used her trust to mock her
About the very things that broke her

And now finally
Two whole decades later
She has become nothing
Just an empty shell of what she used to be
Colourful butterflies don't spring out of papers when she moves crayons across them
Dark moths and evil sinisters arise instead
Drawing her into their dark feeling less hearts

This is her life
This is her story

And then they wonder why a girl from such a good family killed herself
Surely a bad egg was she

Her poor poor parents.