Those two little tickets lay in the box  from a half remembered day when things werent all they could be

When you leaned over to me an said you loved how i watched the movie

Well now i sit here the smell of bleach drifting through the air

Me wishing i could tell you all thats happened with me

Like when we stayed up till three just trying to get to know me

But your gone an im misunderstood

Just another broken boy up to no good

Wrestling with my thoughts now that your off

Ill just sit here an let our old songs play remembering every single day

I have a streak of suicide
                                  Wait you like me better When i speak in lies
                                                     So i won't die
                                                                ­       I'll live my life
                               A reason to be isn't beyond me
                                                              ­  I will stay awake even as i wish to dream
                        I won't give anymore silent screams
                                                         ­                  Give me no reason to stay
                                                           I'll be here waiting for my final days to end naturally

Go on and act like you
control me.
know me.
define me.

All you do is see your own **** version
of who you think I am.
See, you really do paint a beautiful picture.
You should be an artist, an inventor.
Creating the perfect ideal.
Living the lie of dreams becoming real.

But who is that girl?
The girl who smiles?
The girl who has no scars?
The girl who is free?

It's most certainly not me.
But this time, it's my story to write.
Let me figure out the plot.
I know more than you, give me the pen.
It's my life, even if I can't predict the end.

Nobody knows of
the countless nights I've spent
in a dull little room.
Awake in bed at night,
listening to the steady beeping
of my sick little heart.
I'm afraid to think
that it might stop too soon.

Unable to breathe,
too sick to move,
too sick to love,
too sick to live.

Then come the questions.
Everyone demanding answers,
knowledge I don't even have.
Are you okay?
I lie, only because
I don't want sympathy.
I want to be saved.

Save me
from this war,
from this hell,
from this so called life.

I believe in music.*
I believe that
when words fail,
music speaks.
It lives as a part of us,
giving an internal fight.
A fight to live, to be remembered
as something more
than just another drop in the sea.

Our world spins around
as a symphony,
a thousand different songs
coming together in a harmony.
Every incoherent thought
becomes a lyric.
Every tear shed
strums a chord.
Every individual
a beat.
Every voice
a song.

Screaming, screaming, screaming.
She sunk further and further down under.
The deeper she got,
the more entangled in her lies she became.

Fighting, fighting, fighting.
She had been in constant combat mode.
But the struggle was only halfhearted,
the end was inevitable.

Dying, dying, dying.*
She was losing all she ever had.
Her relief grew
with the pain.