I guess I can't carry the weight of the world on my shoulders, huh?
I always thought I could always stay strong. That I wouldn't fall down. Turns out I'm more fragile that I noticed. I was taken by surprised, and I was ambushed. My heart, feelings, my faith, were all taken away. I was hopeless.
I started doing things I never thought I would do.
I always loved painting and drawings, and I started painting on myself. My arms were my canvases, my tool was my razor. The paint was the blood. And that's how my masterpieces came out to be.
I loved music and singing, too. Over time, my songs were unbearable to hear. They broke the soul of anyone who heard. I sang of hurt, and of sadness. I sang with tears. I could no longer sing to anyone.
I had plenty of friends, and over time I stopped talking to them. The only person who I always talked to was suicide.
He always gave me reasons not to live anymore.
Oh how I loved him so. We were two birds of a feather. We went everywhere together. We'd always go up to the pier, and we'd see the ocean together. Sometimes, I'd tell him about how I wanted to jump so badly. I'd tell him how no one would miss me. We would cry together.
Oh, those were our golden days.