She paints a pretty picture,
But her story has a twist.
Her paint brush was a blade,
And her canvas is her wrist.

The rain was falling fast,
The wind was blowing hard,
That night she took the knife,
And made her one last scar.

Slit your wrist and cut your thighs.
Fake a smile and dry your eyes.
Hate yourself and hate your life.
Welcome to my world of lies.

The day I died,
they found me hanging with your words braided into
a rope and knotted around my throat.

It's not suicide if your mind is already dead.

" 'But I don't want to go
among mad people' said Alice.
'Oh you can't help that,' said the Cat.
'We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'
'How do you know I'm mad?' asked Alice.
'You must be,' said the cat,
'Or you wouldn't have come.' "

" And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had."