The gun to my head.
The bottle empty.
The cuts deeper than ever before.
The blood streaming.
Flooding my thoughts.
The words piercing me.
Singing to try to save me.
I am not going to be saved.
I can not be saved.
Not when my baby is ripped from me.
Not when my wrists bleed.
Not when I cry at night.
Not when I'm dead inside.
**** I really am broken.
I pretend to be happy.
Pretend to be over it.
Pretend to move on.
Well it still haunts me.
I still hear the voice.
It is ******* killing me!!!!!
I'm dead!!!!
I can't do this anymore....
I drink a little too much.
Cut a little too deep.
Pull the trigger a little too fast.
When you find me I'll be dead.
Sorry.