i don't think i'll make it this time.
my demons yelling again.
now the night comes again.
and my throats starts to close.
as i realize all is done
maybe there isn't a tomorrow
i spent my days in an institution
and spending my days abusing myself
now i sit here with razor and pills in hand
"all is well" i say
"you're insane, not well," says my disorders
well, it is true.
no one cares.
why would they?
i'm just another face in the crowd.
nothing unique about me.
with pills and razor in hand
i give into what my mind wants
but i ask one thing
that you don't forget about me if you cared.