To lose the love you have,
For everything and everyone.
To lay in the bathtub,
With no one turning the doorknob.
To lay in a liquid bed made of your own blood,
To not move.
To not breathe at all,
To not get to know the new.
To sin the worst sin,
To be sorry.
To hope to be forgiven,
Not to be seen.
To watch yourself slit your own wrist,
To not think.
To not believe in the good,
To accept that you'll be gone soon.
To hear the quietest noises,
To see a blood covered white rose.
To feel the coldness,
Of your own blood against your skin.
To not believe what everyone says,
To not feel the pain within.
To no longer live in this kind of world,
Where you have to be perfect PLUS more.
To not ever see your face,
Ever, ever again.
To welcome Death,
Into your heart where all the pain stays.
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