Mirror, mirror, look at the cuts on thy
wrists, for what\'s to be. It\'s hard to retreat
To what I can’t see? No, intimacy.
Why try? This bullet would be thy defeat.
Depression’s killing me? Continuously
Watching me sleep beside thy bed, takes
Dreams from inside thy head. Puts a gun against
thy head. He tells me to be quiet as he’s
squeezing the trigger. Yet it feels so fine.
Thee can not wait for that darkness to wake!
Thee know that hell’s to blame. It is not just thy.
But those who breath, just keeping enemies fake.
Keeping the enemies fake, stops the lies
From diving within thy life.