The day is young and I am little,
My little hands aches with pain
Frozen, I hear my heart beat in my ears
My little body shakes, my voice whimpers
I can’t cry, my little hands are paralyzed
Its only Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday
Why do those who drink become ugly, why do those who scream become silent?
Life is already a disappointment.
Hope is only torture.
Sensations writhe within as my heart beat and counts down another minute.
Pain, however dull or excruciating is my only reminder that I am fragile, not strong.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 12:25 PM UTC
The day is young and I am little,
My little hands aches with pain
Frozen, I hear my heart beat in my ears
My little body shakes, my voice whimpers
I can’t cry, my little hands are paralyzed
Its only Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday
Why do those who drink become ugly, why do those who scream become silent?
Life is already a disappointment.
Hope is only torture.
Sensations writhe within as my heart beat and counts down another minute.
Pain, however dull or excruciating is my only reminder that I am fragile, not strong.
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