Need To Start Talking

I need to start talking about my head.
I need to start talking about why I want me dead.
The fact in the mirror I can’t see me.
Takes me a few minutes to process what I see.
But you see all of the darkness I see behind my eyes.
And the scars on my arms are the perfect despise.
The only thing I recognise the thing that makes me, me.
Is the scars on my arms the first things I can see?
I look in the mirror and smile and who is there.
Someone I don’t recognise but hey you don’t care.
No one gets there are voices all in my head.
No one gets that I’m crazy and I want to be dead.
Then I won’t see me and the voices will go.
There scary and poison yet you won’t let me let go.
People say that it’s selfish to just up and leave.
But they don’t see all the hurt behind the sleeve.
Drowning, pills, cutting or jump.
I don’t know which one place my head on a stump.
Either way I do it I will be dead.
At least then nothing more in my head.
I don’t care if its morbid I want it to stop.
I want to be normal I just want to drop.
All this worry about you finding out and leaving me on my own.
This thing that defines me right threw to my bone.
I want to smash all the mirrors and the demon I see.
The demon that replaced my image of exactly what I see.
I’m scared to shout out cause what if no one can see.
That I’m scared one day I’m really going to hurt me.
I promised I wouldn’t, I promised id stop.
But I think I should just be cleaned up with a mop.
I dream about drowning and popping the pill.
But I always wake up because you give me the will.
But what if it’s not enough, what if I can’t win.
What if actually I’m a demon and I commit all the sin.
Then i go straight back to heaven with more knowledge than I need.
It’s Satan in my head who planted the seed.
I need church, I need to pray.
I need all the voices to just go away.
I can’t talk to my mum because she worries you see.
She has too much to deal with she doesn’t need me.
Now that my dad is gone and I can’t at him back.
Why would he want a crazy daughter to mess with his track?
My grandma doesn’t need it she’s dying you see.
Going straight to the north when it’s south for me.
My cousins they want to help but they won’t.
They want me better but I bet I won’t.
Curl up in a ball and cry it all out.
Wish I was alone so I could punch things and shout.
I want to make marks going all down my arm.
I want to feel pain I want to be harmed.
Because by feeling the pain it is all okay.
And if I feel pain it keeps the demon at bay.
So if you read this I’m crazy and I have all this shit.
But I will be fine, just give me a little bit