Untitled

All I wanted to do was

Write you a song.

But I thought of my words.

Crumpled them up.

And threw them away.

Sitting here now, thinking of you.

How do I start of a new song without telling of my feelings?

My thoughts can’t seem to sort themselves out.

No more death thoughts.

No more cutting.

I’m done with it all. 

Though I can't truly promise.

But I can promise

That I’m a new person

Than who I used to be.

Reviews

[Mark Emerson]

self harming isn't a good thing but in saying that the pain of the flesh is better than the pain of the soul i hope you find someone to help you