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 ****.
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 ******, now their dead.
They should be lucky if they leave with their heads.
**** them. **** 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.