sometimes i forget why i'm still doing this. cutting myself up.
and then i close my eyes and try to sleep. and then i remember that this is how i cope. but is it really coping?
i ask myself if it is reallly worth the scars and being yelled at all for jsut a few seconds of happiness that the cuts bring. and it kinda scares me that the answer is yes.
i only ever seem to write the bad shit in here. it's like i don't want to remember the good crap that happens. and happiness doesn't last long for me. ah well... whatever
When the sun set on your dying eyes
My mouth said goodbye
But my heart did not
When the day became night
And the world became dark
I held your dead hand and waited
I was waiting for the rising sun
To rise with you and rise with me
But the world keeps turning
And the sun is burning
But here in our space
We are still waiting for the sun
To shine into our glassy eyes
And bring back our lost minds