What will become of you?

Your good memories are blocked out by
All of your depression and scars.
You know that who you should be
Is not who you are.
It seems that happiness was never there
It seems that no one has ever cared.
You're beginning to turn to
Nothing but a hollow shell.
Your soul is filling with darkness
And starting to dissappear.
You try to beckon sleep to save you
But you're forced to lie awake
And think of all that is wrong
And all that you aren't:
Happy, pretty,
Kind and caring,
loud and unafraid,
proud to be yourself.
You think of what you are:
Hollow, depressed,
frightened, silent,
ashamed of who you are.
You're forced to hide your scars,
And your thoughts are all suicidal.
Your silence covers up your pain.
You've ended up hating yourself,
And letting your feelings out through your blade.
But this is who you are, who you're destined to be.
And you'll live with it for a while,
Before suicide finally takes you.
You will not make it much longer,
You'll not live to say that you're okay.
People ask, "What will become of you?"
Suicide.