Suicide, suicide wishing I were dead.
Suicide, suicide deep in my head.
Suicide, suicide cutting my wrists.
Suicide, suicide I'm so done with this.
As I start to feel lonely again,
I reach for an old friend.
A friend of shiny steel,
With a razors edge.
Roses are red, voilets are blue
blood is red, when I bleed my body turns blue.
When I cut and slice my skin,
I am here, though it does not feel like it.
Every time I wake, I wonder am I really here?
I am in foster care, I have been since I was 11. Before that time I was not given a very long life expectancy due to a cronic illness called Cystic Fibrosis. I went to the foster home where I was constantly cared for and watched over. I astonished my doctors, living 4 years longer than expected. I am doing much better with that aspect of my life. R ...