It takes so much to get out of bed,
and resist taking this gun to my head.
That is why I sit here now shaking, with a gun in my hand,
wanting to get out of this any way I can.
Can’t take your criticism anymore,
I’m going to die today, of that I’m sure,
I grab a knife out of my drawer,
and take it across my wrist ‘til I can’t feel the pain anymore.
Cry and wish to die because I’m weak,
It is freedom from this agony that I seek.
Blood drips onto the paper
As I say 'Im sorry' to my mother.
Finally I pick up this gun,
And say ‘Fuck you’ to everyone.
 
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