did you think of me
when you were with them?
did you think of me
when you kissed them?
did you think of me
when you touched them?
did you think of me
when you made love to them?

did i ever cross your mind?
were you ever actually mine?
did you ever actually love me?
did i ever actually have the key?
do you regret it?
was i worth it?
do you even miss me at all?

do you think of me
when you hold her hand?
do you think of me
when she speaks of band?
do you think of me when she smiles at you?
do you think of me
when she says, 'I love you'?

i may never know the answers to these,
but the one answer i have is when someone asks me,
"do you still love him?"
and all i know to say is, "sadly."

roses are black
thoughts are dark
look what has become of this little girls soul

rainbows are gray
unicorns are magicless
dreams are nightmares
lollipops are sugarless

this little heart is crippled and laced with scars
from all the times it was abused and hit by cars

a soul once so bright
has now become so dark

when people see it they run in fright
afraid of what they might come to fight

oh look at this fragile little soul
*could you be the next to feel its toll?

i get lost in the ocean in his eyes,
drowning me every time i caught his eye.
with every word he spoke,
he controlled me.
without a doubt,
i was falling for him slowly.

from the swoosh in his hair,
to the way he walked like air.

fomr the curve of his lips,
to the way his head dips.

from the engraving of his dimples,
to the way he was never simple.

piece by piece,
*he had captivated me

you want into my life now?
after all these years,
what has changed?

is it to impress your new wife,
or to be the reason for the knife?

tell me again all the things i've done wrong .
the list must be long,
but what can i say?
i learned from the best.

tell me how i can't trust men,
but don't worry i can't after you.

you criticize my choices
even when yours weren't all that great.

you can't be absent for 15 years and act like you weren't .

but in the end it's ironic, really.
the one who tries to "protect" me
is the one i really need protection from.

you call me beautiful,
but am i really?

tell me where is the beauty in staving yourself because you disgust yourself?

where is it in relying on the blade being dragged against your skin to relieve you of your pain?

where is it in staring at the bottle of pretty pills begging them to end it all?


*how can something that is made up of all these horrendous things, fall under the category of beautiful?