Sometimes, you wonder, what the point is.
Is life this depressing, is there something you miss?
You keep living on, fighting for friends,
But now when you smile, the pain never ends.
You don't even know, this knife in your hand,
Should you plunge it, or just take a stand?
If you end it all here, the fire will go out.
You'll no longer be stuck, your pain always stout.
But the death of you, will cause grief to those others,
So maybe you should stay, despite all your bothers.
However, you choose, yourself or your allies.
All you can think of, is all of those great times.
But now? It's too much, your pain far too great.
Living, the one thing you truly do hate.
So now, you've decided, 'I'll finally try.'
'Tonight is the night I'll finally die.'
And then you wake up, and realise you failed.
And now you feel evil, your blood hooked on bails.
Everytime you plunge, down to knife's hilt.
Your mind fills itself, with exuberant guilt.
Because even as much, as the knife's silver hurts.
You always feel worse, for that one, silver mirth.
That friend who helped you, her kindness unending.
If only she knew, your power was bending.
So now are you happy? If she heard that you tried.
She would have felt horrible. Geuss what? She'd have cried.
How could you hurt, such a close friend?
You feel evil, for simply wanting an end.
Now you're depressed. Is there something you miss?
Sometimes, you wonder, what the point is.
