She's hiding in her cupboard,
Not wanting to be found,
The tears running down her face,
Are enough to get her drowned.
Its not as if she cares,
She probably never will,
She's sick of the life she leads,
Herself she wants to kill.
Soon it will be over.
When the damage is done,
For her family and friends,
The next few years wont be fun.
A slit to a wrist, now slowly she's dying.
Tear stained mascara,
Smudged from all her crying.
And something as simple,
As a knife to a wrist,
Takes away a loved one,
Who was cared about and surely missed.
