All that pours from my wrists is the ridicule and hatred of the more fortunate
The time spent pouring senseless lines onto paper.
What is left of me. When all I have become is a shadow of my younger self
I don't know which way is up or down
I am my shadow
I am the shadow
I am drowned out
No longer visible from the slums of my bed room
Curled in what is left of sanity I cry.
With these words on paper
"Sorrows" "death" "pain"
I am but a single kiss from Satan