Left alone in this desolate place
He searches for a familiar face
He finds a mirror and looks in
But the reflection he sees is not him
He knows not who he is
Or his reason to live
Tears begin to stream down
Warm streaks flowing over his frown
He glances at his wrist and wonders what he’s done
Why a blade and not a gun
The crimson lines on his skin feel cold
He searches for things both new and old
He sees himself as a failed attempt, as something gone wrong
That he was good for nothing all along
He sits alone and wonders why
Why God placed him in this hell called life
He shuts all out and closes his eyes
Is it really time for final goodbyes?
Lying down on his bed
He thinks “I guess I’m only perfect deadâ€
