I am not going to sugar coat it, I hate you. I hate you for making me fall in love with you when you **** well knew we weren't going to work out. Why wouldn't we work out? Oh, because you're a ******* liar. I have no idea who you are. Your whole being is non-existent to me. You're not real. The sad part is, you didn't even fight to make me stay. There's no way in hell I would stay either way, but it would have been nice to know you actually did love me. Obviously every "I love you" was a lie too. I meant nothing to you. I hate you for making me feel important when we both know I am nothing. I will always be nothing. I'm just everyones toy that gets tossed in the corner whenever they're tired of playing with me. That is all I will ever be. I just wish you saw me differently.


                                B.S.

Closing my eyes so tightly that my temples begin to throb
The space above my eyes starts burning but I force them farther down.

I feel like I've just had a brick to my face as my nose begins to sting with the built up pressure.
But it's still not dark enough.

Hat down past the doors I'm holding shut
They never came with a lock.
I want to see the type of darkness I feel inside but
All I feel is burning
My eyes won't close enough to really see it
And even 6 feet under wouldn't be dark enough.

She takes a seat
not saying much, she tries not to speak
because you'll smell the whiskey
Blacked out eyes of abused innocence
hides a tale of misery
There she sits, way to the right in the third row
as she tries to believe in a power that can save her from below
Her torn and worn jeans have seen many days,
So go on and judge them, the third row sinners
While she sits in a daze
She pulls at her sleeves, so no one will see
Her story carved into her skin of satin ivory
So she watches the preacher with curiosity
wondering if anyone can smell the whiskey
or see her story in ivory
She's a believer, that third row sinner.

He takes a seat
Masked in strength
wondering if you can see that he is weak
His hands shake, maybe from drugs
or maybe from pure anxiety, not just a tweak
There he sits, way to the left on the third row
praying that this isn't all just a show
His face is worn and hardened with sorrow
So go on and judge the third row sinners
While he fights for tomorrow
The visions won't leave him, the whispers
Yet he won't let anyone see his story, as it withers
So he watches the preacher, wondering
Can you guess his weakness
Can anyone see his illness
His story, in the silent stillness
He's a fighter, that third row sinner

I take a seat
My story not one of interest
But yet you judged me from when I walked in the entrance
I have wounds, many scars, and have sinned plenty
Yet it's none of your business, my story
Until I have laid it at your feet gently
In the middle of the third row, with her at my right, and him at my left
I ask you to not judge us, we third row sinners
For our stories will have an ending, just like yours
But many paths leave many doors
So open wisely, and maybe we will all choose the right one
to lead us home.

It hurts when you're dying inside
And when you're slowly running out of places to hide
They tell me it's all worth it
Maybe in its time
But all good things must come to an end
There is on bright light around this bend
Only the suffering stays
So don't you dare tell me this is just a phase
Where is my sweet release?
Don't tell me it's under this blade
I deserve peace
My very soul has decayed
There has to be more than this
Where is my saviour to pull me from abyss?
Tell me why it *hurts so much
Tell me why it won't leave me be
Tell me why there are days when I crave its touch
Tell me why it craves my debris
Please, make it stop!
Please, make it go away
*How loud must I cry?
MAKE IT GO AWAY!