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What shall become of I?
I'm tortured with thoughts of blood,
Oh sweet victory as the blade presses against my arm.
What shall become of I,
As I breathe in the strong, reckless smoke?
The high I feel that allows me to escape all worries.
What shall become of I,
When I'm all alone,
Dreaming dreams no one has ever dared to dream?
What shall become of I,
As I question my presence?
What am I good for?
Crying out for help,
I shall leave this earth sooner than imagined.
I shall become no more than a memory.
