On one cold night, of a cold december week...
I'll think of how my life is so harsh and so bleek...
I'll think of how worthless and how I am so weak...
I'll cut wrists and blood will leak...
I'll patch myself up and get on with my day...
I'll see you tomarrow, I have nothing to say...
I dont tell you, What I do every night...
I'll cut myself again and again untill no more...
But you'll never know...
Untill the day, when you put black roses beside my coffin door...
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By: Seth S.
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sticekth's journal of hopelessness
this journal is for everyday I sit here watching my life drift by...
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Death... must be easy,
because life is hard...