I made this peom for a friend
    I want to die, I'm here with a gun to my head but why can't I pull the trigger? Is it the memories I've made in the past, or maybe my family. It might be that I know that I'm not going to hear my friends laughs again. Maybe it's just my life I don't want to let go.
this is NOT based on a true story.

    This is a poem I had to make for english:
Is this really my dream? Sitting here staring at the wall. Wondering if I will make it to tomorrow. With a pink ribbon on everyone’s shirt I still wonder why I’m here. With needles in my arm, I reach my hand to touch my hair-it’s gone. The pain each day is like losing my family. Is this really my dream? Wondering if I’ll see my children’s faces tomorrow.
again not based on a true story.