You say that i don't do what you say,
you say that i don't care,
but what you don't see,
me crying in a suffocating pile of regret,
the fact that i am constantly at war,
in a war that most times takes my focus,
so sorry that i forgot one thing in a list of five,
the sound of a bottle pouring alchohol sounds like bliss to you,
but to me it sounds more like the night that she told me to **** myself,
maybe,
maybe i am a melodramatic fool,
but you cannot say,
my cousin getting beaten infront of me while i was to scared to say anything,
does not involve me,
and you saying that i don't care,
does not make me perfect,
it's more likely to be more amunition,
him,
coming at me with a taser,
you told me you weren't okay with it,
but you didn't try to stop him,
why,
why do you never stand up for me,
even after all the **** she did to me,
you react so much to me not doing my chores,
and everyone always tells me to relax,
sorry,
i'm sorry that you would rater drink wine,
And I'm sorry you'd rather smoke ***,
But for this Destiny I am not,
I am nothing but a suit of armor waiting for the next person,
Waiting for the next person to use me,
But as little children painted with the perfect life,
Stop to tap or bang or just admire,
I turn my head away,
Because I cannot feel guilt for something I'm not involved in,
But this armor is painted silver,
But underneath is a paper wrapped heart,
That has so many dents,
And so many craters,
That it looks like the moon,
Cascading over the water,
The water that I am drowning in,
Am I really the guilty one?