People aren't interested in what i think while i lay in bed.
Or those blood thirsty voices that beckon in my head.
It's so much simpler to let it seep away in a stream of blood.
that is until i drowned in my very own flood.
It's my own fault I'm in this depression stage.
I'm just waiting for someone to pick up my life's story and turn the page.
For someone to say, "Your secrets are safe with me."
And for this person to help me figure out what i want to be.
I need someone to wipe away the tears that fall from my blood shot eyes.
And somebody to fight away the soul killing cries.
someone that will love me, and my flaws.
And would be able to admit it without a moments pause.
But all these things I see happening in the future,
Might as well be thrown into Hell's fire.
Because I'm useless and no one will ever love me.
My future life is all imaginary.
