abandoned us
when i was three
my father never
really cared for me
my only purpose
is mom's human ashtray
my only escape of reality
is my crimson to pay
with a blade as a pencil
i write on my wrist
and pen all the bad things
in a bloody little list
i play with my pain
like a broken toy
it gives me agony
it gives me joy
i use my own blood
as the ink for my quill
as i write in my diary
and my note for the kill
it reads 'you bastard,
you hurt me, scarred me for life
i gave you my heart, my love,
and now one more gift, my knife'
my sister died
when i was twelve
and my tears
can this story i tell?
i remember standing there watching
as she ran across the street
never saw that car comming
and just stood there, watching blood seep
i didn't cry
i didn't scream
i didn't run to her side
i was mindless zombie
i just stood there and watched
as she helplessly died
now my brother
he isn't dead
but he almost got away
with shooting himself in the head
but now he's in a hospital
locked up like a prisoner
and i'm left alone
an outcast loser
these are the people
who hurt me
tore me apart
and made me go crazy
and people ask
'why are you so depressed?'
i think it'd be quite obvious,
if they were in my hell of a mess
thay say
'but life is so good
there's sunshine and friendship
and you could love as you should'
okay, there's sunshine
but there's also rain
and there's friendship
but enemies all the same
and yes, there's love
but also hate
so you must understand
darkness is my fate
 
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