The White Line

I hide my emotions behind a smile,

and I watch those whom I love stay happy,

at least for a while.

But like a bomb which is meant to explode,

I sometimes have to release my thoughts,

but as soon as its done I get back onto my road.

I keep my statements short and sweet,

in order to stay calm,

and to be discreet.

Who can I come to when the cloud comes back,

keeping my mind there like a slave,

pushing it and pushing it until smack.

I'm there once more,

my arms bleeding,

and sore.

Keeping me questioning my life,

and how many would miss me,

or if it would only be my knife.

These white lines come more often,

sending me back a hundred feet,

the push slowly becomes soften.

The white lines get deeper,

my life gets shorter,

and I begin to crave the Grim Reaper.

Take me now,

while you have the bloody chance,

and when you take me don't ask how?

How I am so immune,

to the fear of death,

the answer is like the dark part of the moon.

Just tell my parents its not their fault,

that I am gone,

and I just couldn't keep my emotions locked in a vault.

Stop my craving for death,

cure me once and not again,

just let me breathe my last breath.