Everything is what you think of while you sit alone,
How everything is, how you wanted it to be,
Starting to cry, you wanted something more,
Everything you found, you knew you could never have.
You think your life to end would be better,
For you, for everyone.
Only four questions on your mind,
Pause and wonder, would they care, would they cry?
Would it change them, those who say they care?
But most, the one question you think,
Dear God, will I be missed?
“Oh well,” you say, “Hurry up, it won’t hurt much.”
One cut, then another;
A note explaining why, would they read it, say yeah right?
Tell yourself one more cut, got to go,
Blood surrounds you, but the only word you write is ‘Good-bye.’
