I woke up dead.
I was still breathing,
But something inside me had given up.
The light had died.

Maybe it was never there to begin with.
Maybe I've alway been less alive than everyone else.
I like to watch the living.
The way they smile when nothing is special enchants me.

I've not been among them for a long time.
They're beautiful, the living.
They look so natural, so fresh, so new.
Like flowers in the spring before the heat of the summer withers their beauty away.

I wish I could be among them,
But instead, I'll stay alone,
And watch from a distance,
Forever wishing my life back.

When I dropped the plates,
When he pushed me against the wall,
When his hand was at my throat,
When nothing was right,
And I wasn't good enough,
When I was bleeding on the floor,
And the crimson stained his shoes,
When I fought his lecherous touch.
It wasn't enough to save me.

They say that writing is like weaving an intricate lie.
That writers are just excellent liars
Lie to me, story teller, for you make lies sound beautiful.
        
         *I was never a good liar.

I can't, I can't, I can't

Breathe
Don't get the blades.
It's okay that you ate,

If he comes back...

Stop panicking.
Calm down. Calm down.

I can't, I can't, I can't

I wanted to be wanted....



                                                             *...but not like this.

I'm sorry.
I know I get lost in the scenery outside the car,
and I don't speak like I should.
I know you think I'm cold.
It's so much safer to stay behind my walls.
It's so much better for the both of us
if I keep my secrets and my thoughts and my stories
all to myself.
Trust me, It's better this way.

I don't really know what I'm doing.
What my purpose is,
Why I'm here,
What I'm good at.
I don't know.

I don't understand why bad things happen.
Why people are killed,
Buildings crumble,
Cancer takes over.
Good people fall apart

I don't understand why such things have happened to me.
They said I was asking for it.
He told me it was out of love.
She said it was my fault.
My lion said there's no controlling it.

Maybe I'm a bad person.
I asked god why? why? why?
And I have recieved no answer.
My sins must have been far too many to forgive.