The feeling so near and the desiccion to hard to think of.

Eyes stained red, wrist so sore, I dont know why i cry ne' more.
For I seem to be the only one that cares, so whats the point if no ones there,
they never are and where, so whats the point breathing now.
I never really wanted this, I wanted to be social, I wanted to be liked, I wanted to be in that play, the one I said I liked.
What went wrong with my life?
Why cant I put myself out there like the good old days, when the worst thing that could ever happen was to scrape your knee on the playground pavement.
Was it jr high, did it then get so bad? No only worse, it was always bad, always sad always beaten to the point I was afraid to talk, to whimmper.
And now that is still in affect, and pain and saddness follow me now, and I cant help it, I cant make it stop now, it will never stop.
Im better off splatterd on the pavment outside my window,
better off drained of all my blood on my bed,
better of used and hurt for his pleasure
I guess im better off dead.