To see me now you would not know. You couldn't tell what is wrong. Only if you've lived it would you know, for you'll never be the same. When the pain has ceased, the trouble starts. The hurt has left its mark. The pain is great, you want it dead, yet it goes on and on. For now an age has come to pass. You've expected it to stop. It endures on forever. You cannot let it go. You try to make yourself forget, but in your mind it stays. The sharpness of the knife you take, could slit a paper in two. Your soul is feeling paper thin. You just want it to stop. The fountain flows as your wrists explode into a red river below. Polluted and forgotten, your mind slowly drifts away. The end is near, you feel fear, as you drift into blackness.
