I gaze at my reflection, hating everything that meets my eyes.  I'm finally able to view myself exactly how everyone else views me...and finally realize that their reasons for despising me, for shunning me... are valid.  I'm ugly...disgusting...They're right when they tell me that I mean nothing; that there's no point in my existence.

My reflection mocks me; teases me; jeers at the deformed thing that is my face.  Every crooked feature sends my mind reeling with revulsion; every twisted shape of my appearance makes my insides cringe.  I don't want to be me anymore.  I want to be free. I want to escape.

If I die young, bury me in satin.  Lay me down on a bed of roses.

I picture the way nobody will cry as I'm lowered into the earth.  I imagine the way nobody's sobs will be absorbed by the darkness; the blackness I will be consumed by.  I see, so clearly in my mind, the way my cold, dead fingers will lay motionless at my sides, awaiting the moment when the rest of my body will start to rot, leaving minimal traces of my previous existence.

No one will care.  If I truly mean nothing, why will anybody bother to cry for me?  Why will any sane person bother to miss me?

Sink me in the river at dawn, send me away with the words of a love song.

I can be happy. I can be free of pain.  I can cease to exist and let my soul eternally marvel in the feeling of freedom.  I can put an end to the agony that continually sinks its teeth into my already wounded heart.

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother.  She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors.

Will that give them the long-awaited satisfaction of seeing me give up?

My mother, the only one who cares, will know that I'm happier once I finally reach the end of my journey.  Though I'll be gone, she will carry on - happy - knowing that she no longer has to worry about me; that the burden of her life is, at last, nonexistent.

Life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no.  Ain't even grey, but she buries her baby.

I can already feel the way my life will slowly slip away with each tick of the clock, my breath becoming faint, the light in my eyes dying.  I can already feel the blissful sensation of my pathetic existence fading from the world, as quickly as the sun rises and sets. 

No hint of my footsteps on the earth will be traced back to me.  I will be wiped out; obliterated.  People will live peacefully, knowing that I no longer exist.

The sharp knife of a short life, well, I've had just enough time.

I want to be loved, cherished, valued.  I want to see someone's eyes light up at the sight of me.  I want to feel the embrace of loving arms.  I want to know what it's like to have worth. 

I've never known the lovin' of a man, but it sure felt nice when he was holdin' my hand.

Looking into my own eyes, I see no traces of fear at the thought of ceasing to exist.  I see anticipation; longing.  It's a wonder I'm still here.  It's a wonder I didn't have the sense to do this before...that I was able to last this long.

Maybe, if someone holds out their hand to me, I will rethink my decision.  That mere impossibility etches a humorless smile on my gaunt face.  I blink away the tears.  The knowledge that death is on its way does not trigger the wetness that gathers around the rims of my eyes.  It is the knowledge that no one cares, and no one ever will.

There's a boy here in town, says he'll love me forever.  Who would have thought forever could be severed by the sharp knife of a short life.

I myself do not care what happens to me.  I do not care what will become of me.  Taking that last step, closing my eyes for the last time...the foresight I'm blessed with helps me realize that I don't care what the future brings.  There's no future to worry about.

A penny for my thoughts, oh no, I'll sell 'em for a dollar.  They're worth so much more after I'm a goner.

They will say that they miss me.  They will announce their fake apologies and sympathies for the world to hear.  They will lie through their teeth to let people know how much I was "loved."  But they don't bother to fake it now.  They will wait until I'm gone to say that they ever cared.

And maybe then you'll hear the words I been singin'.  Funny when you're dead how people start listenin'.

I shoot myself a sad smile.  Beneath the surface, I know I'm happy because I know what's coming.  I know that the absence of pain will soon overwhelm me; leave me in blissful peace.  I pray silently that no one will bother to cry false tears on my behalf.  I pray that they preserve those tears for when they will actually mean something.  They have no need to cry; no need to waste their tears.

Because I know they will hold no meaning, no feeling.  They will be empty; as empty as me.  So I hope that they will hold them back.  I hope that those droplets of remorse will never enter the world, because they will leave - lifeless - as soon as they spring into existence.

And I will be jealous, envious of the ease at which they pass through their short lives.

The ballad of a dove. Go with peace and love.  Gather up your tears, keep 'em in your pocket.  Save 'em for a time when you're really gonna need 'em.