Before I was so messed up,
never did I want to live.
So obsessed with the pain I felt,
anything I would give.

I through away relationships,
and lost my one true friend.
But I knew I couldn't stop,
I know it wouldn't end.

But then I got better,
and I started to enjoy my life.
I started thinking happy,
and I threw away my knife.

I became a new person,
not obsessed with suicide.
I helped out all my friends,
all the people who wanted to hide.

Well, I thought I was better until now,
I'm sitting with my knife at hand.
I'm depressed again,
my life is no longer grand.

I feel my tears once again,
the ones I have forgotten.
I don't care about how well I did,
or how far I would have gotten.

My mind goes blank as blade meets skin,
I see my blood seep through.
I remember all my bad times,
and then my cut just grew.

I am not better anymore,
the sickness has engulfed me.
I no longer feel the happiness,
I forgot who I can be.

 
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