I wrote this poem on a trip to Ottawa, and it quickly became one of my favourites. This poem is from personal experience.

Soon it will be time to return to school. In Africa, the razor blade is looked at with some fear. The razor blade can also be a weapon of the ennemy which declares the moments of hostile events.

This one is also to the guy I’m with, I really do love him.

Another emotional love poem.

What really goes on in the mind of a suicidal druggie…

EDIT: This is the prologue to the series.

Ouch…

I wrote this quite a while ago when I was at my lowest.