Bent over the bathroom sink.
Toothbrush tip down your throat.
Too selfconcious to think.
Too fat to let go.
You close your eyes, and wonder if you'll ever be thin.
Will they ever lover you?
Will you be happy again?
The scars tell the stories,and it was all real.
Now you lie shattered and broken, and too hurt to feel.
Can you eat and still be beautiful?
Can you stand strong and cry?
Your not going to be happy.
Your hoping each day to die.
They push the word in deep,
Till they pour from your skin.
All the things they've said, have gone to your head.
Now your hanging from the ceiling.
Pull the trigger.
Your dead.
