****** and bruised,we hold our heads up high.
We keep blocking the noise inside our heads by cursing at the sky,singing the anthem of the ******.
Hell bound,we only pray for things we need to make us feel alive.
Only when tucked in "I love you's" or "I'm a mess" do we say "God".
We keep committing crimes,using our sob stories as our excuses.
As if your bruises and wounds are enough to provide vindication,
As if our pain could justify our sins.
Neglected social casualties,we glorify our alienation,use our insecurities as weapons and wound others instead.
I'm sorry because we can't be saved.I'm sorry because we are told that,"it's all in your head".I'm sorry because growing up means succumbing to the cancer that is life.
I'm sorry,I really am.