The pen = my blade
the paper = my wrist
the ink = my blood

Who gets to say what's normal?

You say no one cares
But I was always there
Now I feel the same
And you're the one to blame

(might turn it in to a poem)

Slit your wrist
Hope to die
Won't exist
Hear them cry

There's a hole in my heart and I don't know why.

-sum 41

Everyone has a different fight. A different wound that keeps them bleeding.

-smile empty soul

Everyone has a twin. some are born with theirs while others find them in a best friend

The memories come flooding back and suddenly I'm alone again

Looking at the far away stars, reminded of my bleeding scars

Take cupid's arrow out of my heart and heal its wounds