Each morning I get up and get dressed,
but whats the point when I'm just going to come home depressed.
I just come home and put on a show,
with my big fake smiles and laughter.
Always pretending every things OK,
when I know nothing will be the same.
Once I close my door to my room,
all my emotions flow out through my tears.
I see the shattered mirror on the floor,
and I see the blades scattered all over.
I feel the pain locked away deep down inside of me,
I feel the tears flowing down my face.
I think why don't I end my misery,
and why don't I end my pain and suffering.
I can't find a reason not too,
I just need to write the letter and every thing will be fine.
I'd become happy once again,
and the pain would flow from my body.
There would be no more scars on my wrists,
and my arms would be clean.
I wouldn't hear the screams,
or remember the nightmares.
So as I hold the gun to my head,
I smile and think of what it would be like dead.
