You say I'm temperamental, but that it's just developmental.
The way my brain claims to be insane,
with a lost else of hope, and a gained sense of pain.
I'm done with that game, I'm done with this ****.
You think I'm an open book, I've had enough of it.
“you're just a teen”, and that “you're as see through as a screen”
and that with gleaming eyes, you've never seen me cry, about the things you'd deny,
because you never even tried.
Just one second blurring by, cutting through time like the cuts on my friends’ wrists.
and yes, that apostrophe goes AFTER the s.
I know my grammar, that's no error.
The blood trickles down and pools in the wells of “get well” cards
next to the hospital bed where she lies.
Drowning her mind, making sheets into tides, and after all this time,
I've left with nothing but this rhyme.
The makeshift raft, crafted by my weary hands
and the salty burn of the liquid now staining my cheeks.
15 years is plenty, thanks.
and, you.  have the audacity to tell me I don’t know **** about this earth.
Well, pardon me, but, I've seen your tomorrow in the eyes of today,
because rising scientists, actors and actresses,
but not enough to stress the BI-ness of those who you thought you knew.
Tell me about the bible, and how,
the binary that sweeps through your Facebook feed,
is touched more than the book you were raised on.
Your hypocrisy is dwindling away,
until the truth will be left.
so, sorry that I'm angry, and
no. I'm not depressed.
Just leave me alone with my loneliness.
Allow me to clean up your mess.