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"Bloody... Hell..." I whisper and whimper. My white bath tub- Slaughtered by my blood. Tears freeze at the corner of my eyes, And three jagged lines, Slowly pouring my life away.
Dark and cold,       A tale so old,  Coming home,     Waiting to unfold.    He sits on his bed,      Painting his wrists red, Urging the thoughts,     To just leave his head.   
Kids are dying Younger and younger By their own hand They're being pushed to the edge And they can't return They feel alone And helpless And have no where to go How many kids have to die
They say y
Suicide. I may or may not be the only one But it has crossed my mind. Honest truth. Then I think Taking my life will do so little of what I think. It will make things worse.
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