Smoke a blunt, roll a joint, light a pipe, fill a ****. You take away that awful feeling inside of me. Numbing the pain when metal tears my pink flesh into an array of ****** lines and designs. Forgetting the feeling of ripping my arms and thighs apart the next morning because the marijuana was to strong. I deserved it, deserve to hurt emotionally to the point that it is physical. I deserve to lay in darkness and let my thoughts suffocate what little hope I have left. I am a cynical and nobody realizes it, afraid that no soul, body or image will ever understand my thinking process or inner feelings. I want to be found, I want to feel free for one second… But that is no longer an option. You see, I have been lost for years, drowning in my mistakes…

“We are all suicidal children telling other suicidal children it will be okay –Emily Tucker”. There is a much worse punishment than death; living.