Bloodshed
a waste of ink
the positive darkness
the ink lines on my skin
covered with a dark red

draw positive thing on yourself
when you feel the need to hurt yourself
i tried
but now I have both
blood and ink
running down my arms

Come, take my hand
And I'll show you a hill
A green hill, and there
The grass is soft
And we can lie here
Looking at the clouds
Telling stories of our past
Our shoulders so close
That they almost touch
And our minds not filled
With anxiety

Why is it when
I need someone
they can't help
because they
just don't
know how
to comfort
me?

A dream just out of reach,
Just out of your comfort zone,
and you have to stop
and ask yourself
"Is it worth it?"

If I cried
Would you
Comfort me?

above the ceiling is lit with bright lights that surround me,
the crowds around are gathered together, talking in
excited tones that pass my ears without reaching me.

can they not see that i am drowning?
i stand in the centre of the room, screaming for help
but they can't hear me, they don't notice or they don't care

my lungs are imploding, i can feel the weight crushing
every inch of my insides. nobody has looked at me yet.
i don't believe that they can't see me, it's impossible.

he extends a hand, holding it casually as though i'm not flooded
he says "just breathe, everything will be okay."
he doesn't understand that if i take a breathe, i will drown

i close my eyes, i can hear them now
"everything will be okay" they're repeating to me
i can read in their faces that they don't understand why i don't just breathe

i'm trying to breathe but it's become impossible and
all i can do is ask for death
but i'm not that lucky

the flower is wilting, bending
falling under the weight of the world
it's breaking, crumbling,
but it's forgotten as its tread on

perhaps they didn't see it,
perhaps they didn't care,
but the flower is dying,
slowly, slowly,
waiting for the final petal
to fall and claim its life

And how can we be sure
That everything we do
Actually serves a purpose?


We can't.

Glasses are the international sign for nerd
But also for genius, and if we're to be honest
It all makes sense, the two go hand in hand
Those who read generally have a wider knowledge

But I've been brought up with the thought
That everyone has the same level of intelligence
And I like that idea, because we're all different
And we're all good at different things

Some people are arty, and others are businessy
And I think the world is perfect the way it is
Because everyone is the same, in their own way
With, or without glasses.

My heart is beating in my chest
The blood is pulsing through my veins
Tears threaten to make their appearance
My fingers shake as I turn up the volume
Making my music loud enough to forget the world