There you go carrying around your pain again
There you go like living like a ghost

I’ve always lived this life alone and hurt is all too familiar of a feeling.
And maybe this pain anchors me into his Dead Sea or maybe, I like living here.

You see, I wear this agony like it is fine art on display. Let me put my pain into a painting or maybe get it in writing.

Keep as evidence that they killed me.
Ripped me apart and claimed it was love. Tore me open and stole the soul.

Criminals I say responsible for the death of one girl.

Reflect on my poetry as a cry for help.
We both know I never had it in me to yell.