My dark little Angel cried again.
Her deepest and darkest tears.
She picked up her razor blade and cutted her beautiful pale white arms again. She was ready to die. No fear of after death, nothing.
No one loved her, not even her mother. She was always way to drunk to even know she has a daughter.
My dark little Angel described herself in her diary as “Ugly, hatred, loner, Goth, unloved”
She hated herself. She never even planned of loving herself one day.
She wished there was more in life then this.
Now, she's overdosing on sleeping pills.
“I am waiting to die” she said.