Killing me slowly are the words of a broken soul.

who's soul is it? It is my very own.

I tell myself and others that I am okay,

okay is only a phrase I've said.

It simply says that I will make sure

my day goes on for your sake.

Okay means I hold what hurts me in my soul,

and the outside shell is just deceiving.

What smiles outside doesn't show the truth;

the truth is, the scars make a smile of hurt.

I drown my hurt away in the bathtub of salt flakes,

with its wonderful smell of purple lavender.

The water runs deep, so deep

It runs deep into my ears and lungs.

I finally relax into a calm state,

but only to appear up into life once again.

Crying inside with a smile on my face isn't new,

the oldest thing is pleasure for all but me.

Selfish me for trying to do what I do,

and loving you for seeing past what I've done.

I hold what is dear to me inside,

with the pain that I try to release.

It blocks me from the world,

and never cures my loneliness.

Looking for a great cure I set eyes on another,

what I see is love from him.

But to my demise he isn't there,

will he come or will I just repeat?

From time to time I repeat what I've said and done,

and take in others smiling embrace.

I wait for the day where I no longer grieve,

where the old me dies and the new is set free.