Getting drunk on stolen alcohol is the best I've got right now
This smoke burns my throat, really bad.
I why would it though? It's killing me, but, isn't that what I want?
My life isn't treating me like everyone else,
Everyone else is happy, while I'm sitting in the corner of my room,
getting drunk. To numb what I hate, feeling.
I just want to get rid of all the pain in my life, you know? Just end it,
but that involves illegal things. What the hell,
you only get one life to live, why not have fun with mine? Do stupid things
that seem great in my mind, but are just bad.
I want to know how much I can get away with.. But I need friends to do it with.
If I don't then it's useless, I need to build the bonds again.
But all I'm going to do is sit in the corner of my room and get drunk off my stolen
alcohol, and smoke my stolen cigarettes.
It seems to be the only thing I can do, I don't have a car or a job, so I'm stuck here,
in my stupid little corner, full of no hope.

they tremble in fear, perspiring, shaking, shuddering.
for these hands are terrified.

not for the things that would seem obvious,
not a serial killer, or a deadly disease, or a difficult test

these hands, they are afraid of their owner.

because they know what she will do with them
when her heart is too heavy
and the tears flood into an ocean

as she draws her pain with the blades
they can't stop her.
they can't convince her she's better than this,
that it isn't worth her death.

these hands can only shake and tremble in fear.

pretty pretty girl
all wrapped up in pretty pretty ribbon
like a gift

an object

wrapped like an object
stuck in a pretty pretty box
a pretty pink box
dance on your tippy toes
raise higher
higher
higher, darling
break your pretty pretty pink toenails

i want to hear the snap your bones make when you bend backwards trying to please the people all roughly wrapped in blue

pretty pretty boy
all wrapped in pretty pretty ribbon
can you hear the whistles?
can you?

that high pitched squeal that shatters your ear drum
it beats like the bang of a drum
march, soldier
march

open your pretty pretty eyes
all sewn shut

shove purple paint down your own throat if it helps you

pretty pretty pretty girl
pretty pretty pretty boy

pretty pretty people don't exist

Draped,
in a long sleeve
shirt,
to cover the evidence


And painting an expression
of contentful bliss

But it is simply an illusion
for the sake of others


Denial the easiest act to employ



Crimson tears stream down
and pool on the floor

A slight shudder
from the sting of the razor’s kiss


Momentary reprieve
from the turbulance in her mind

This pain her only time of joy



But the outside world only sees
the smile on her face


A subtle attempt to make it seem
like nothing’s amiss

Her false expression
of happiness forever a burden to her

Because no one wants a broken toy…