I built my walls so high,

That nobody could climb.

Afraid to get too close,

Until the right time.



I'd opened up before,

But society took control.

Without any warning,

They picked at my soul.



My heart was an open book,

But they tore out the pages.

Taking my smile,

In small little stages.



Now I keep distance,

Approach with great care.

And yet they still wonder,

What caused this despair.



Did they think it was funny?

Do they still think that now?

Do they regret their words..?

Or still question how?



Do you now understand,

What caused my walls to fall?

I never was perfect,

Not perfect at all.

This is the story of a mother,

Or more specifically her son.

He didn't **** himself,

He just held the gun.



She couldn't see the signs,

That her child was slowly breaking.

Society judged his every turn,

They said his cuts were faking.



He feared his journey to school,

For the bullies on the way.

The mother watched him, smiling,

Knowing nothing of his day.



Finally he'd had enough,

He just wanted the pain to end.

The mother walked into his room,

To find him beyond mend.



This is the story of a mother,

Or more specifically her son.

Society killed the boy.

He just held the gun.



This story is not true,

Yet it happens every day.

The sequel is yours to write,

Its plot is yours to say.

Perfect my appearance,

Perfect what I say.

Fake a pretty smile,

Until the act starts to fray.



Make a little 'Sorry',

My new favorite word.

Apolagise to the me,

Society would have preferred.



Make constant mistakes,

Though I never learn.

Stumbling through life,

Taking all the wrong turns.



Which way is right?

What did you expect?

Look what has happened,

When I tried to be perfect.



I'm hurting all the wrong people,

Because I build up the pain.

I don't let it out,

Instead I burn in the rain.

There's a place in the park I like to go,

Where you lose yourself without complaint.

You forget the noise of cars,

The industrial grey concrete buildings,

The ancient yet freshly painted expectations of society.

And you lose yourself,

Without complaint.



Some fall into those who don't question,

That the way we live our lives is somewhat unnatural.

Laughing in sheer happiness,

Amongst the dull colours of the city,

And not seeking a less simple, peaceful existence.

And they go on with that one life,

Without complaint.



And some fall into those who do pursue some great 'perhaps',

Who revel in works of fiction as an escape from reality.

Who do not feel at home,

In nor the the industrial grey concrete buildings,

Or the woods that I like to go,

But in fiction, for excitement they cannot discover. Undoubtedly,

A flaw in science.



And it is that that gives us chills as we watch heroic film scenes,

Or the final chapters of a characters life unrolling in the pages of a novel.

For we subconsciously want that 'impossible' life.

The excitement, thrill,

And yet so many do not question,

That the reason they enjoy fiction,

Is a flaw in science.



In which we were not given our great 'perhaps.'



In which we must find our own in a world where barriers are frequent.



And the noise of cars,

The industrial grey concrete buildings,

The ancient yet freshly painted expectations of society,

Are so hard to ignore.



And it is a flaw in science,

That these ancient yet freshly painted expectations,

Do not include the need to seek out our own work of fiction.



It is a flaw in science,

That barriers are so frequent,

And your longing turns to numbness,



And you lose yourself,

Without complaint.

You've been stuck waiting,

For what seems a million years.

I'm praying for dulled silence,

But the words are choked by tears.



You've overwhelmed me this time,

Are you happy to know?

Do you like to see me stuttering?

Like to see me sink below?



It's really not your fault,

That you've got me frozen here.

Your perfection leaves me clueless,

So much I want to disappear.



How do I follow your words?

I need to block the sound...

With a guitar I strum,

And a base drums I pound.



There's lyrics in my head,

A chorus in my mind.

The voices of a thousand,

Rising from behind.



Singing, shouting, screaming,

The words I want to speak.

The deaf and the blind,

The strong and the weak.



A rebellion of thoughts,

I'm too afraid to say aloud.

I might myself be fearful,

But here they're shouted high and proud.



My arguments have faltered,

My hands are shaking too.

So I turn on my mind music,

To stop me singing this to you.



I want to tell you so much,

Perhaps give you a slight clue.

But I just turn on my mind music,

To stop me singing this to you.