Clouded visions of darkness was a all I could see.
I reached out, looking for a hand but no one was with me.
How could life be so hard when it came to me?
But for everybody else it was easy.
Why was it every little ounce of happiness I got was stolen?
Why was it everytime I tried to get out I was only letting the cold in?
Some days all did I was cry.
Begging for somebody in the sky to make it right.
Other its was worst.
Like the day I grabbed that knife.
I remember tracing my veins while a voice in my head whisperd  "deeper."
"Don't be a coward, if you do it, this girl you are, you'll no longer have to be her."
I remember the faces that flashed in my memory as I unknowingly gave the knife a push.
I remember the blood dripping, when I finally decided to look.
But I don't remember the pain, because I couldn't feel it anymore.
Some how, even with an open cut, it was only my heart that was sore.
I knew I had people who loved me, but I didnt care.
Because I didn't.
I no longer wanted to live the life I was given.
I waited, maybe a little to long to put the pressure on my wound.
Comtiplating, if I really wanted to know if there was life beyond that burial tomb.
Somehow I found the strength to live life, but I've never really been over.
Sometimes I think, what it would have been like if I had got it over with.
I fight wars in my head with a bunch of people who hate me.
Tells me I'm not pretty.
Degrades me.
Tells me how I'll never be anything.
Manipulate me.
Sometimes I find myself clawing at my skin, until it turns red with bruises.
Crying my eyes out.
Starting to loose it.
Cause I hate myself.
My only answer.
Im dying, & I'm my own cancer.


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