I'm at that point again. I've been writing the letter over and over in my head. "I'm sorry Mom. I didn't meant to hurt you." I've been thinking of writing all of my experiences down in a notebook so that my suicide doesn't go unexplained. Maybe if everyone knows why I'm running away from life, they'll be able to accept my departure as how I see it: A refreshing silence. "I love you, but I finally had to stop the constant pain in my chest." With every beat, I feel more dramatic. I want the world to see me the way I see myself. Hopeless. I feel undeniably emo. The word has never rang so true, but these feelings won't let me think straight. "You had all the hope in the world for me, but you were wrong." I'm almost ready. It's been creeping up on me lately. I'm just not fit for this. "Oooh Baby, Do you bleed like me?"