take my open wounds and
slice them with the razor blade
that is your tongue and
make me wonder why I stick around.
I can’t help the hells I have faced
and I know what is true.
But you take my tragedy
and tie it to your train of thought
sending it to another place
so you don’t have to deal
or ever feel anything other than
your own ignorant bliss.
i told you in confidence
and got overshadowed by your doubt
and suddenly she became crazy,
which means maybe I am too
because I am a product of my
own inane environment
and how do I separate
from what surrounds me
when it’s all I have left.

I have dealt with the beer can
antics and the intoxicated ignorance
for far too long to just
push it to the back of my mind.
I’m not sure if you’re an *******,
or you have that much trouble
being an empathetic person.
But you will never understand the
tides I have faced or the hells
i have stumbled through
weak and unaware of what’s ahead.
I have been turned into nothing more
than a punching bag for misplaced
anger and a lashing tongue
for pent up aggression
and not i’m not sure if this
is making the wounds I carry heal
over with a skin thats thick as glass
or if the skin i am in is just withering away
with every word you speak to me.
I’m tired of the tragedy,
just give me some sense of normality.