You're a just a pathetic little weakingling that nobody will ever love.
Your own father rejected you because he knew what was to come.
You can't stay in sports, you give up on your talents.
You waste your good looks, and you're all out of balance.
You disappoint your family, hell, you were a worthless mistake.
Yeah, go ahead, pick up the bottle, you always seem to break.
You can't keep it together, and you're a failure at life.
You bargin everynight with the same, dull knife.
You think god isn't real, hah, he is, he just has better things to do.
Than to try and love a miserable **** up like you.
You couldn't even hide those petty little scars.
And now the world can see what waste you are.
You hurt your mother; you make her cry.
Yet you have the audacity to wonder why.
Look at yourself, you're a wreck, you're a mess.
All you bring others is worry and stress.
So go ahead do the world a favour.
Don't even bother with the pencil and paper.
Forget the blades, and forget the pills, just get it right.
Grab the gun and you can end it all tonight*.

The voices told her this everynight.
She was giving up; she didn't want to fight.
Society altered her beautiful mind.
And a dead body is all you'll find.
No one understands, why she ended her life.
All people can do is mourn; cry; wonder why.
She was beauty, she was a wonder.
Then her scars were well discovered.
They spoke a story, loud and clear.
As if she herself whispered the answers in their ears.
She locked herself up to fight a battle alone.
A battle that she could have easily won.
She pushed there love away, for the fear of rejection.
While spiraling into a manic depression.
Fear in her eyes that nobody saw.
Now everyone looks and wonders with awe.
All that's left is to say goodbye.
An angle is born, and the demons died.