Dark Poet 55
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I said I was unhappy, I said I was alone.
I said I don't want to live, and you hung up the phone.
You told me to grow up. You told me to move on. You told me to fake a smile, and act like nothing's wrong.
Now my wrists are bleeding.
Now my heart is torn. Now I'm standing on the edge, wishing I hadn't been born.
Soon I'll be a memory.
Soon I will be dead. Soon you'll be crying, wishin you had listened to what I said.