(Just to state now; this was written about a year and 8 months ago. I was feeling vulnerable, scared and as you can probably tell certain things were running through my head. Sorry if this affects anyone in a negative way. I just use poetry to release... It prevents me doing things that could put me in danger.)

Unaware of the thoughts and the mess in her mind,

He sees not past her, he's nothing but blind,

Blind to the truth 'it's not much to ask,'

She sometimes wishes he would see through her mask.

If she told him it all; his thoughts would change,

He would order her to stop and change her ways.

So in her silence she curls up and weeps,

Has the odd breakdown every couple of weeks,

She knows it's not normal and hates to cry,

She knows most of the shit is all in her mind...

She uses the cold metal as it's herself she blames,

No longer caring if she hits the veins,

She hates the habit that it has become,

But this time it's deep, This time he's won...

Last night she cut herself open and laugh while she bled,

Grew tired from loss and lay on the bed,

Drifting off now she's beginning to dread...

That sudden realisation that in seconds she's dead.

He has won the game as she breathes her last breath...

The winner of this life, of course, is Death.



He walks in the room and sees her there,

Lying on her side, eyes covered by her hair,

A note beside her saying 'no one cared'

He calls her name but no one's there

The reality sinks in and he drops to his knee's,

Begging she would wake he whispers "please."

He knows the truth but refuses to believe,

That she'll never awake from this dream.



He sits beside her upon the bed,

Pulls her close and strokes her head,

Weeping knowing she was so misread,

The coward? The emo? Well now she's dead.

It wouldn't matter, no one would care,

When she needed them most her friends weren't there.

Now she's laying in his lap, pale and limp,

With a single tear which made him think,

"Wait, she didn't want to die...

If she did that much, she wouldn't have cried,

She was scared and worried hiding behind lies,

I could have helped if I only tried"

He slowly strokes her still pink cheek,

His emotion barrier growing weak,

He feels his eyes well up with tears,

As he thinks about these past years...

He holds her cold and crimson hand,

The deep red liquid makes her skin seem bland.

Sliding down and onto the floor,

He was sure she couldn't bleed much more.

He picks up the blade still pressed in her palm,

Took a deep breath and tried to stay calm,

He pushed it down but pulled back quick,

But it was too late, there was a slit,

The cut filled up and began to trickle,

As he laid down beside her and leant on the pillow,

The pain wouldn't stop but wouldn't be there for long,

And that's when he knew that from that moment on,

They wouldn't be forgotten and would always live on.