Foggy vision, bathroom stall.
Clear water, hard fall.
Stomach aches, bruises form.
I feel hopeless and still torn.
I can handle it.
I can handle all their shit.
I can handle drowning in a toilet bowl.
But I can’t handle half of a whole.
Two pieces lying next to me.
It’s gone, I can’t hear the music that sets me free.
They ripped it apart.
Not smart.
Now I’m pissed, now their dead.
They should be lucky if they leave with their heads.
Fuck them. Fuck them all.
Blood litters the red bathroom stall.
3 came in and now 1 leaves.
Now they’re scared, scared of me.
They’re shocked, I normally don’t say a word.
But I’m angry, right and wrong have blurred.
I don’t regret it, they leave me alone.
Well, they do. Until I walk home.
One is the loneliest number.
Especially against eleven others.