I wrote a story,
on my skin...

When you feel depressed,
and have nothing to do...

My crimson liquid,
flows so freely...

Time again to hear the tale,
the tale which i know so well...

I'm sick of waking,
someday I'm going to stop it...

He was so young.
He had no choice...

I wanna sleep in your arms,
where there is no harm...

You asked why,
I turn my music so loud...

*This poem was written as a story for a picture.*
He warned her about the book...

It seems like I'm the target,
to everyone's hatred and anger...

You're the reason that i live,
the reason i breathe...

Do you love me,
or do you not...