Let the waves take me under, let my tired lungs fill with tears.

Like my mother's, who wept for years.

I got it from her.

Mother knew best.

And with my heart of stone, I'll sink to the bottom.

 

Or perhaps let the fire burn away the cold flesh upon my hands.

The only time I could feel warm inside

was when the heat was pressed against my skin.

Let the flames consume me.

Until there's only ash for the wind to take away.

With my memory.

 

They say it's a chemical imbalance.

A reaction, or perhaps a lackof one.

Where you slowly become numb and unfeeling.

When things turn grey.

Drink that bleach to clear your head once and for all and wash away your sins.

 

When the colors fade away to nothing more and you just want to feel again.

And your cries die out to pitiful sobs.

And the only thing you're feeling is the tightness in your chest.

So the razor makes the most sense. Bleeding just to know you're still alive 

until you die.

The color red was always the richest shade you knew.

 

You were always the failure.

You are always wrong.

You're cutting your ties now, along with your wrists.

The rope is an obvious choice

for those who have lost their voice.

What a lovely tangle from which your body will dangle.

Alieviate that knot in your throat and just let go.

 

Maybe they'll remember you

if you go out with a bang.

Click.

Let them know it was them, not you, that did this.

A quick game of russian roulette with one player.

The ammunition was always them.

 

Heights never bothered you.

Look over the edge. Let the earth greet you with it's warm embrace.

What's the likelihood you'll survive?

Who would know?

It may be months before they find your body.

Or maybe never at all.

So it's time for you to take the fall for the last time.

 

 

No one will miss me.

I'm a waste of space.

A waste of air.

Useless.

I'm a liar.

I'm strange.

Hateful.

Odd.

 

I'm alone.

 

And for that, I'm sorry.