I thought I had gotten better,
but i guess i just got worse,
i thought no more pain was left,
i guess that was a curse,
depression is still ahold of me,
i hope it will soon let go,
im tired of the pain i feel,
i wish my feelings were known,
the first time i talked about,
hating my life as a whole,
it was in 5th grade,
and it was eating at my soul,
the first time i cut my wrist,
i was only thirteen,
feeling hate over power me,
yet now im only fifteen,
i cut again last night,
deeper than before,
hiding in my room,
crying behind my door,
the blood dripping down my arm,
the scars that are being made,
all the people that hurt me,
they will finally paid,
when im dead and gone,
will they cry and feel sad,
or will they walk away,
with the hate they have always had