I stand in a pit of my own despair,
my mother close by,
the very person who made the problems arise,
yes, she gave me life,
one I didn't ask for,
one I've many times asked to end,

But I live on,
fighting every second, everyday,
to keep the crimson lines from reappearing,
afraid that one day, I may give in,
to the suduction,
of a blade so sharp, it calls my name,
the way it says my name is metallic against my ears,

But no,
I mustn't give in,
This is a battle most won't fight,
but I fight it to win,
maybe be beaten and battered in the end,
but standing just the same, wrists clean,

Whom do I have to blame?
for my reoccuring depression,
Built for blame (but doesn't take it well)
Laced with shame (but puts on a smile for show)
maybe its because I was born drunk,
and probably damaged,
yes, alcohol syndrome was my chosen fate,

Thanks Mommy Dearest. You're the greatest.