Some nights I go down memory lane Where I don't like to be, I go there because flashbacks come back, To the point where I'm in tears I don't like to cry, But I can't help it. When I do end up crying, It's too late.
On a cold January day, I was abused Bad In school, In the bathroom, In the handicap stall, I was left there to cry,
When I told the police, It was too late, Way too late. They couldn't do anything because it was way too late.
Since then, The last 2 years, I've been bullied, Harassed, Physically and online
Not to the point where I wanted to do self-harm But I've thought about it, Several times.