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- Last Login
- 03/19/2007 12:16 pm
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- Member Since
- 05/12/2006
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About
Tears roll down his pale white faceand sting his blood shot eyes
he cuts his wrists and takes the drugs the chance of death is his prize
he lies there on the bathroom floor
seeping in the pain
blood is leaking from his arms
all he left with is, scars and stains
he takes another over dose
slices another patch of skin
he keeping count of all the times the knife just tends to win
he looks into the mirror
discused by what he sees
he holds his breath, smashes it in
falls to the ground and beggins to breath
his last breath of his life
Journal
the real me that part that no one ever sees that i cant let be seen
only time heals all wounds why cant mine ever be healed
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