I sit here and try to count all the scars on my arm... but they're so many- where do i start?

How can they except me to thank them for saving my life... when i don't want to be alive?

It hurts me to do this but we can't be friends. We can't be lovers. I love you so much- I must save you from myself. Please, just try to understand.

I give up...

Think of this as my final goodbye...

The knife is in my hand and the thoughts are in my mind

Isn't this the best part of breaking up- finding someone else you can't get enough of. Someone who wants to be with you too...

I no longer desire to live...

Scars remind us that the past is very much real

& if you hate me for reasons you won't share, if you refuse to talk to me, say awful things about me, and say you never felt for me theyou told me you did- it'll be alright. For the you I use to know, will forever stay in my heart and mind.