She closed her eyes as she slid the blade across her wrist. Tears that could no longer be repressed flowed down her cheeks as she prayed for the courage to end her life...

I heard it better when I couldn't hear it at all...

A cut for every memory,
A cut for all the tears.
A cut for every bit of pain you've caused throughout the years.

A knife to make the blood flow.
A bandaid's sure to hide,
The pretty scars upon the wrist
Of another suicide.

Just because I'm smiling, doesn't mean I'm happy.
Even though I'm hurting, it doesn't mean I'll cry.
Just because I'm angry, doesn't mean I hate you.
And even though I'm bleeding, that doesn't mean I'll die.

They say she's happy, but far from right,
They'll never know she cries at night.
They said she's perfect, but they lied,
She's just a pretty suicide.

I know what I'm holding on to is only going to make me fall harder in the end, but I still can't get rid of the hope that you'll take my hand and say, "You didn't think i forgot about you did ya?"

You say you don't want me to fall, and yet, you're the one who wont take my hand....

When you ask her what's wrong, and she tells you nothing, ask again, and you'll see her mask slip, if only for a second.

She carved her initials under the scars so the world would know who the artist was.

I’ll cry you a river, then I’ll build you a bridge so you can watch me jump.