The clock strikes 12:01
and I realize another year has just begun.
Most people would find this fun,
but all I want to do is run.
Run from all the pain and hide,
find a place, and let the blade glide.
Watch the blood dripping away my pride,
forget about all the times I cried.
I've lasted another year,
and the pain is very clear.
If I had one more tear
I would have cried it in fear.
Fourteen is how old I turn today.
Making it this far was sure to my dismay.
I've always thought that I would die someday,
but I've always thought I'd have some say.
But today, I have no choice.
In my death, I have no voice.
Death and his saints shall rejoice
as my body they choose to hoist.
Fourteen years of miserable life,
filled with nothing but pain and strife.
My only friend was my knife,
helping spread the cutting fife.
The minutes counting down
the moment when I finally drown.
Counting down the seconds until I shutdown,
until I rest peacefully, buried underground.
I made it this far, isn't that sad?
I made it this far, always mad.
I made it this far, with the so much I had.
I made it this far, always bad.
I made it this far, only to die.
Right now, I'm about to cry.
I built my life on a lie,
acting like I'd ever try.
The clock strikes 12:35
and I feel like I can't survive.
Hell is where I shall soon arrive,
only to die, but remain alive.