Slash on the door,
like the slit on my wrist,
and I've been here before,
in a place just like this.
where the world
seems "out to get you"
like its become the latest trend
then everybody leaves you
and your scars become
you only friends
some could say you've lost it. While, others just ignore
But the truth is,
they dont realize
it has been like this before.
Cause nothing changes,
It just always stays the same
This depression is taking over
to begin its harmful reign
And when I'm queen,
I will exist
with perfect scars
upon my wrists,
And everyone will want to be
nearly just as dead as me.
And you'll be sorry.
Goodbye.
