The laundry is piled to the ceiling,
The first layer of paint is peeling,
There are mud-prints all over the stairs,
Am I supposed to care?

I have eighty-nine tonnes of homework,
My mother keeps yelling to "get up!
Put away those dishes over there!"
Am I supposed to care?

The teacher is mumbling and teaching
And suddenly now she is screeching,
"Pay attention! Sit up in your chair!"
Am I supposed to care?

I lie awake most nights crying,
With idle thoughts of dying.
Reality is my nightmare,
I just wish somebody would care.

Scraping, screeching nails for chalk,
Searing tears of guilt and pain,
Screaming, shouting, and remorse,
Yesterday we see again.
Escape is my artful trade,
Doors and windows, bells of shame;
"You're afraid, aren't you?" I say.
"But my dear it's just a game."
Yes, the silence does respond
With its voice inside my mind,
"Game over and it all will end,
The truth of you is left behind."
I deliberate with him,
He knows not of intention,
But yet of course he can sense
My morbid apprehension.
I pace - I pace - up and down,
My mind at me is screaming,
And silence' voice is cold again,
"It will not be redeeming."
I wish I could be alone
In quiet without silence,
Yet they all continue on
To take away my one chance.
To them it is an unjust cause
To end what has been given,
But I have never asked for this -
Insanely I am driven
Beyond the edge of boundaries
To somewhere I am not there,
And slowly I lift off my knees
And fall into my nightmare.
Headfirst I plunge into the depth
Of cold and icy violence,
The ground rushes to meet me
And vanishes - the silence.