She played her symphony with a musical twist, her bow was a razor and her violin was her wrist. Her music was beautiful poetry and no one saw the truth, society is to blame for the death of another innocent youth. But before she said her final goodbye this violinist played her final notes into the night, and when the night was up and the concert was done her beautiful soul was put to rest. And there we have the final good bye and the amateur violinist slipped into the night.


1. Remember.

the razor won't save you from the hurt and the pain.
You'll still feel alone.
You'll still feel ashamed
The blood calms the moment, the red colours you life, cause nothing's as good as the cool of the knife.
The first time is deceitful, you'll feel better- than worse. You know it was stupid but your thoughts have dispersed.
A moment of calm! A miracle at least, your mind takes a break, the cut tamed the beast. Or that's what pull think, every night since the first. Just cut once a week, it couldn't get worse, but that's the mistake, thinking you're in control. That's just how it starts, that's how it takes hold. You cry just to cut, you cut just to cry. The secrets and scars become too much to hide. You dread someone seeing But want someone to know., you don't even think you could ever let go. The razor has won, it has stolen your trust. Your love for razor has turned into lust. You're not suicidal, you don't want to try, but wonder just wonder, what it'd be like to die. But then someone sees! Someone noticed your cuts! You think it's all over, but you keep your mouth shut. You'll just blame the cat, or a trip or a fall, but really you're wishing you could just tell them all. Ou want to scream "help notice my need!" But you won't you'll just lie, ten you'll go home and bleed. This could go on for months or possibly years, then something will change and bring you to tears. It's time to speak up, get help; face your fears. You'll throw out your razors and vow not to cut, you'll reach out for help, you can't do it yourself. It will seem like forever; be it a day or a month, since the last lovely time when you made your last cut. The pathway is long, you may slip once or twice, but that doesn't mean you're lost to the knife. The scars on your body, the urge in your head, will be with you long after depression is dead. Although you've recovered, it's become part of you. So don't mind the people that judge you untrue. So learn from what happened. Know you're alive! And beer forget what you did to survive.
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