Here I sit think why is it like this.
Every day I grow more and more detached,
I feel as tho this is not real I wish that I could just fly away, every day.
Home no longer feels close, it almost feels like a hole.
Deeper and darker as you go.
I think to myself, if only there were a way out.
I feel like I found a way by cutting and tearing myself away.
I feel stuck, wish I had someone to help.
I left everyone behind as I decided to die.
I finally feel a way out.
That night I took my hand grabbed a blade and sliced away.