She's living a lie, nobody else can see,
How late at night she whispers "I don't want to be me."
She wants someone to talk to, about the things going through her head,
Would people think she's crazy, if she tells them she'd rather be dead?
She doesn't know why, but she doesn't want to exist,
Her life slowly slips away as the blade glides over her wrists.
She has to hide the cuts, so people don't know,
Just how long she's been feeling so low.
Her nights are the hardest, she always seems to fall apart,
She doesn't know what to do with her broken heart.
Her wrists are sore, and her pillow is stained with tears,
She doesn't know who to turn to, afraid nobody cares.
She's afraid to show people how she truly feels,
She's not quite sure what her expression reveals.
"I don't want to do this", she whispers at night.
How long can she continue to fight.?
She's trying her best to hide from her friends,
How she just wants all this to end.
How many nights she's spent with the blade,
How many stupid decisions she has made.
She wishes she hadn't done this, it's hard to ignore,
Just how much pain she hides behind closed doors.
And just how insecure she feels, in her own skin,
But if you were to ask why she wouldn't know where to begin.
It's hard to explain, she doesn't want people to know,
How she feels about herself, why she feels so low.
She doesn't want them to know why she causes herself so much pain,
What does she get out of it, what does she gain?
She's beginning to feel worse, she's closer to the edge,
How much can she go through before she falls from the ledge?
What would they do? What will they say?
When they finally know that she feels this way.
