I am dying slowly. No one’s there to save me from this hell..razor blades have become my best friends. Ciggarettes have become a routine. If I tell you, you run to the Child Protective Services like you always do. I can’t tell you nothing..you don’t care anyways. I might as well take this razor to my wrist and cut, before I have to see you for Christmas. It would make me feel so much better to watch the blood swiftly slide down my arm. Draining the life out of me. I might just do it now..my mom might send me to a Pysch Ward, but who gives a shit? I sure as hell don’t. Fuck my life, fuck Earth. and fuck you.