Every day I sit here wishing i could die
razor blade in one hand trying not to
cry. Blood dripping down, cuts on my
rist. Raging with anger, busting up my
fist. Searching for a way out losing my
mind, lost everything i thought was mine.
Time stops moving so dose my hart life
ends quickly before it could start.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I can relate to this one alot... read some of mine you might like them