My fears of the day are not of the sunrise
But the accusing flames it points at me
My fear of the night are not the darkness
But the growing shadows deep within

Its the same story with the same ending
Just it always begins differently
I wonder if it makes sense to write again
After all it is like the last

 But is it really like the last?
Are the days, the hours, the minutes the same?
No they are not
And neither is the pain felt everyday

The other day it was pins and needles
Pricking every part of me
Burning, stinging, freezing all at once
And I thought that was the worst

Yesterday was blades and knives
slicing, chopping, stabbing at my heart
Each impact causing excruciating pain
that I beg for death yet holding on to life

Today its guns and shinny bullets
Staring down the barrel raises the hairs on my body
I feel the pain after the shot has been fired
As I watch the crimson flow form a river around me

I am not sure I want to see tomorrow
For each day is worse than the last
And as I lay here gasping for breath
I realise...
That tomorrow will not come...