i don't really feel like fighting.

listen, before i go... i love you. goodbye.

if i could make you see what i see,

maybe you'd understand.

my mind isn't a pretty place.

inside lay wilted flowers,

and instead of pollen they shed guilt.

my twisted monster thinks

spilling blood's a pretty thing.

and i'm sorry i can't bring you light.

but a black hole's eating mine.

i am dead inside.

and i just want to feel alive, but

there's no reason to stay.

i've seen so many sunsets,

why should i see more?

i didn't ask for this,

and i think i've had enough.

how can a hollow chest feel so heavy?