Hopeless.
It feels so hopeless sometimes.
When hurting myself falls short.
When slitting my wrists to watch them bleed
And the stress-relieving thrill of nicotine,
Runs short in a reason to stay alive.
Abused.
When I just can't take anymore.
When I want to storm out the door
I remember,
It doesn't matter.
Die here or die out there?
What's the point?
Life will never be fair.
There's nowhere else to run
There's still room for a gun
To end it.
To end me.
To set my soul free.
Just smoke one more pack
So my lungs, like my soul, fade to black.
But for what?
It doesn't change anything.
My heart's black too,
It's attached to a string.
And the end is held by a puppet master, me.
And I can't figure out how to let go and be free.
I've made this mind such a mess.
Therefore this life is just
Hopeless...