A Teenager's Opinion
"Why do people kill themselves?" Someone posed this question the other day, so here's my answer: People kill themselves because they simply are tired of their lives.
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"Why do people kill themselves?" Someone posed this question the other day, so here's my answer: People kill themselves because they simply are tired of their lives.
There's a lot of things in life that I just don't get I know I can't know everything obviously But I wish life wasn't so confusing Something really heartbreaking happened this week, and I know I'm...
Crying Crying Slowly dying Screaming Screaming No one hearing Can't cope Can't cope Now she's Lost hope Knowing Knowing Where she's Going Family Family Say "It's a...
I'm writing this in a bathtub in a plain green notebook crying.
Hi everyone, This is something that's been playing on my mind for a while, and I'd really appreciate it if you took the time to read it. Amanda Todd. I bet you've heard of her.
Crying alone Wanting to die People don't care Don't even ask why Fed up of the fight Lost all of my will To get up over and over It's just a steep hill I've tried so many times To fight this dark...
Beautiful girl, saddened face, Bullied for her weight Called ugly, called fat by the "popular" girls No where to go to, only tears Her grades fall lower and lower, No one knows she cries at night,...
she couldn't walk on her own she was simply too afraid there was so much grief around her so many dead bodies that just laid I'm not talking about murder I'm not talking about death I'm talking...
Part 1 (Inspired by Tumblr) Wanna kill yourself. Imagine this. You come home from school one day. You've had yet another horrible day. You're just ready to give up.
Christmas can do funny things. To those who are shattered and broke. The festive time can be difficult. Such sad feelings it can evoke. If you are already feeling alone. Christmas is a lonely time.
Fat, ugly, beaten, destroyed. These are the feelings they cannot hide. Tears, sobs, whimpers and pain. These are the things on their brain. A wrist, a knife, a cut then blood.
Put your hand over your heart. Feal rhythm and the beat. Each time you feel that pound. A living soul falls to the ground. Heart no longer thumping making their sound.
Red ink, Or maybe pink. Convincing myself it's not blood, But more likely red mud, It could be paint. No.