You ask me why on my knife it has blood,
I simply respond, because by you I am no longer loved.
You ask me why my words are cold and mean
simply because at age 13 you said you wanted only me,
now at 15, you are no longer to be seen.
You ask me why my wrist covered in crimson red,
I simply respond, because of the goodbye you said.
You ask me why I want to die,
simply because, I am breaking through_
my wings are ready to fly!
