wounds slashed open again fallen from grace i lost my wings i washed my blood stained hands in my tears for i am mortal now and i can never go home life cuts my paper skin deep i become suicidal my eyes see my fingers touch the cold steel my hands shake as i take the first cut sweet release the crimson rain hits the floor staining i begin to cry i know my life is ending loneliness surrounds as my eyes begin to drop the only regret i have… i never got to tell you that you mean everything that if you were still here i might have stayed in the land of the living ANGELIC WHISPERS IN MY HEAD THE WORDS ARE FRAIL AND DEAD
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I dont know if you have given a thought at how people, or at least me, can feel, when someone writes that she is cutting herself and bleeding and there is no way I can be there to help. Or maybe you think we dont care? Well, we care, I care, and I feel very bad.