She cringes as the car pulls up.
Then he stomps through the door.
A grab and a slap,
and she falls to the floor.
She cries, she cries
and begs for no more.

She hears the angry voice,
and she tries in vain to hide.
Knowing the fury,
That he's holding inside.
She cries and she cries,
She's so sick of this ride.

She escapes the next night,
in a bold, daring ploy.
No longer his plaything,
No longer his toy.
She cries and she cries,
but now they're tears of joy.

tell me im crazy
tell me im just jealous
tell me i dont deserve him
tell me hes not my type
tell me im not his type
tell me tell me
tell me anything
except for "you love him"

He knows now that I like him

But he tries to get away from me.

He finds another girl to play with,

and to spark on my jealousy.


I kept thinking about it

and I wondered why.

I thought, to myself,

that maybe,

I was not his type.

Don’t talk to me
Don’t say hi
Follow everyone else’s example
leave
without saying goodbye

I find it kinda ironic that the people who don't want to see us hurt
Are the only reasons we are hurt in the first place

I know you won’t read this
and I know you won’t care
but I will tell you what it was like.

It was blurry.
it was slow
but time was running fast.
It was dusty feet
and dusty souls.
It was feeling nothing
and then all at once.
It was hating you
to drown the urge of hugging you.
It was writing a poem
and post it
wishing you will relate to it.

But who cares,
you don’t.