The silent nights, alone in the house,

Start to become fuzzy,

Like you do, after too many drinks,

It starts to become a habit, a way of life.

You start to think your life is meaningless,

You find a razor on the bathroom counter,

And you start to make cuts into your skin,

This too finds it's way into your silent nights.

The razor soon leaves the bathroom,

And finds itself on the night stand next to your bed.

The silent nights, alone in the house,

The drinking and cutting,

Just part of your daily life,

You start to feel guilty,

Of your meaningless existence.

You feel the burden on your family,

Feeding an extra, good-for-nothing mouth,

A nobody, a screw-up,

Soon food rarely brushes your lips,

Not a drop of water falls onto your tongue.

The silent nights, alone in the house,

The drinking, cutting and starvation,

Your daily mutilation and repentance,

To make up for your birth,

The piece of trash that lived.

You start to think of the best plan,

The best way to end your life,

To stop wasting space,

You know, no one will notice,

No one will care,

It is better this way.

The silent nights, alone in the house,

The drinking, cutting, starvation and suicidal thoughts,

Just the way you live your life,

A daily routine. The next step is death.

You write your letters, and leave them next to the bed,

You put on your best clothes, and smile like everything's fine.

You grab the pills and glass of water,

One by one you take the pills and gulp them down,

Second by second you start to close your eyes,

And your head softly hits the pillows,

To end the pain.