Does it always cross their mind,
when they make their own end?
Does that person always seem the kind,
who would take it into their hands?
Is it the phrases that I say?
Is it about the way I look?
Is it that my mind wanders that way?
That I wonder how it feels to die.
Should you worry that I think of this?
Or is it that I could?
Should I worry that I wouldn’t miss,
this place I don’t call home?
Is it wrong to consider plans?
Is it bad not to prepare the future?
Should I really care about life’s demands?
Because the truth is that I don’t.
Could I ever be worth the try?
Could the tears I shed become a memory?
Should I really tell someone that I,
often wish for the end?
Is it that I really have thought?
Is it that I never have cared?
Should it matter it happens a lot,
to the ones who it wouldn’t seem.
I think it’s that I feel alone.
My problems cannot be shared.
I’ve always dealt fine on my own.
But it’s always been that way.
