Surface

For some reason, I think as death as an escape.
Sometimes I want to do it, to myself.

I can't handle this pain that I feel.

Every day. It never ends.
And every time it ends, it always finds a way back.

Maybe if I were over, all this pain that's apart of me would be over too.

If you could give me one reason to live, one word to inspire me, one person to love me and not leave.

If you could just give me help, an answer, a hand.

Maybe you could help me to believe that if my life ends I'd be crying for a way back.

Being at the bottom of the sea is the lowest I could possibly get.
And still, I don't see the surface when I look up.