Messed up make-up,
teary eyes,
smell of burnt weed,
howls and muffled cries.
Stuffed ash-tray,
work station covered in white,
razors thrown around,
covered in blood- fresh and dry.
An ever present noose hanging,
pills- Prozac, Valium- luring for an over-dose,
the open window of the balcony,
and the razors- all pushing me towards the road of
freedom.
You won't see my tears again,
nor listen to the things I say.
I know I won't be missed or remembered,
but please don't hate me when I'm dead.