Maybe if I continue to fall, the most important people of all will see.

Maybe they will see me desperately trying to breathe as the black ink fills my lungs.

The ink stains my lungs, maybe if I really show what goes through my head people will agree I should be dead.

The more depressed I get the more fine I feel, my control is tearing at the seams.

Nothing feels real as I’m trying to think of a new deal.

A new deal as in a new way to cope.

I have tried to pray the pain away, but all I think of is hanging from a rope.

Smokes, alcohol, slicing my skin to bits.

No matter how hard I try the demons are still crawling from their pits.

To wreck havoc on my soul.

Maybe if I let them win people will realize that I was falling.

As I lay in bed bawling, I wonder why I’m staling.

Maybe if I end it all..I won’t have to fall.