Death is a Doorway it can be opened,It can be closed, when you open it



you deal with it,When you close it you can’t bear it,




you don’t learn to deal with it,
and when the opportunity comes you just let it slip,slip straight through




your fingers,it’s like water.Death, its a Lake of Sorrow and it drowns you, when you come up you feel as if you’ve left your heart somewhere down at the bottom.


And you feel the ice,the ice that is your heart,Your soul it’s Stone and every day and every night you try to use the Sledgehammer of Self-Harm, But no matter how hard you try nothing works nothing helps to ease your pain,






and those kids at school,those Fiends of hell and Death’s Despair don’t make anything better and when your parents ask “What’s wrong, is it the funeral?” you try and tell them that you’re an Outcast and you’ll need a little more than a shotgun blast or a kick in the a** to make you so paranoid,















and so you go back To the Sledgehammer of Self-Harm and it doesn’t work and your friends ask about the scars on your arm and you shrug away the cold remarks but still it doesn’t work, and you think ‘the scars it’s always the damn scars and why does everybody stare like i’ve got Stars on these arms,these arms that i destroy everyday and everynight,
that hold Battle wounds from years of war on myself,years of war in my mind, An eternity of which i have spent taking the many lives of my arms which bear these scars?’’