They say the world is running out of oxygen
So that gives me more motivation to breathe yours in.

Wake up
It's Monday
Lace up your shoes
Walk out the door
No one to notice anymore
There's no one here anymore

Wake up
It's Tuesday
Makeup your face
Walk straight to work
To get a good tip just flirt
Smile so it doesn't have hurt

Wake up
It's Wednesday
Comb out your hair
Go through the rain
The wet can hide the pain
That's on your face in stains

Wake up
It's Thursday
Look in the mirror
Avoid your eyes
Don't listen to empty lies
To whispers in their eyes

Wake up
It's Friday
Brush your teeth
Swallow all fear
No one left to listen here
None to shout, ****, or jeer

Wake up
It's Saturday
Click out your notes
Play back the laughs
You've recorded in drafts
Not much ever seems to last

Wake up
It's Sunday
Button your dress
Go pray at church
Tell yourself it all has worth
How could it get any worse

Wake up
It's Monday
Lace up your shoes

It's a sad life if you can't believe
Believe in those things that you can't see
So have faith, my dear
That not everything is as it seems

Save a life, of course
Pick you up, pouring rain
But get your beer-coated breath out of my face




Stop shouting, we'll buy your smokes
Putting your hands on her arm
Dragging your fingers to trace
My hands shove you back
Sit down in the back seat
You push me away

She's driving
For God's sake she's driving
   Stop whispering in her ear
     She's yelling
   Stop whispering in her ear
     She's whimpering
   Stop whispering in her ear
     She's sobbing

Get your lips off her
Sit down in the back seat
We are on the highway
We cannot stop
We are on the highway
Sit down in the back seat
Don't park the car
**You can't park th-

He asked me about my scars...
And I could't answer,
filling the silence with
that disgust and fear welling up in my chest.
This would be the end of us.
That's how it always is.
You can fill cracks with gold,
you can paint over the streaks,
but it's not the same
and no one wants a broken girl.
Not even as friends like us.
but he just looked at me and said
You should know that you're perfect
and don't need any of that.
*...And you're feisty.

Never been there.
Can't talk about it much.
I've seen shadows on the wall.
Crying faces in my dorm hall.
I've seen reflections of friends
in the communal toilet while they Puke-TSD.
Can't talk about it much.
It's not a subject I like to touch.
Never been there.
Never talking like I've seen it all.
They have. Ask them what it's like to fall
down and check your face for scrapes
and have other people put band-aids
on your ***. ("Oops, my mistake!")
Or better yet, don't.
Don't ask me.
Don't ask them.
They can talk.
I've never been.

If they ask, you can answer with the voice of a friend.
But don't ask. Don't reopen the PTSDen
of pain and the past. Just listen if they ask.
Have some ******* courtesy till then.