Today I woke up and wanted to **** myself.
I hate feeling so low that I can't even help myself.
I look to the sky for warmth but it just didn't help.
I'm afraid to close my eyes, for my dreams are really hell

Constantly hopin' and wishin' for **** that won't really happen
and all this pain  that's inside
they said that **** doesn't matter,
"Just get to the money, P. The rest will come later"
But what if living is killing me?
Doesn't my sanity matter?

I'm locked away inside my mind,
the key is on the table
But I'm tied to the chair with invisible
ropes stronger than cable
Can I live?
I ask myself twice is the possibility of purgatory worth
the price of my life?
Can I live?

Depression at its best and happiness that is struggling.
Find the finer things in reality and
don't ever think you are nothing.
But I don't. I'm the ****,
at least that's what I tell myself today.
Even if I do believe it, the tears are still only a blink away.

I'm bipolar. And a girl. Yeah that's one hell of an equation
and when I have my emotional fits it's one hell of a conversation-
with myself. All 8 of me.
Not even standing between two mirrors to mask insanity.
I'm sanely me. Insanely me.
Inside the soul that sang to me.
I can't even write this rhyme with complete accuracy because
they're watching me.
They prey on the weak.
Misery likes company and right now, woe is me.