You see I only see my brother
On very rare occasions
And I've lost my mother to her lover
A man named Merlot.

Two years ago I thought about killing myself
And if I had to write a list of 20 reasons I'm still alive?
Six of them would be teachers names,
One for the girl who stood by me
The last thirteen all are the name of the boy who's birthday is forever inked
Into my left wrist.

These are all simple facts.

Much like the fact that I don't know how to cut the toxic out of my life
Or preserve the positive.
Similar to how I can't stop doing things that I know bother people,
Just for some kind of reaction.

I'm pushing
   and pushing
Because you see, I'm in the habit of full force shoving
(people right out of my life.)
Though I'm not sure where I got it from
This trait is a ***** dark part of me
That screams to be fixed.

The best part of this all is, well.
I'm watching myself doing it.
The problem is
It's like watching a family have thanksgiving dinner
While you stand looking through a window
In the pouring rain
yelling at them to
Just ******* look
In the doorway
Just ******* see the serial killer that's about to come in and destroy it
All.

It's the simple fact that I'm just standing there
Watching as they are slaughtered

Freezing
When the killer looks out the window,
Lifts their hood,
Lets out a sigh.
It's the killer staring at you and you staring right back.

It's realizing that you're looking into your own eyes.

That's what my life is right now, and I just can't find it in myself
To walk in and take the knife from my own hands.
I can't stop the slaughter even though every fiber of my being is screaming out save them.

My life is not moving
Because maybe saving them from yourself?
Means letting the slaughter happen.