Though there are people who believe that they love me, I have always felt alone.
Barred from the bridge and key that lies just beyond my fingertips.
If only someone could see,  how broken my smiles are. How shallow my assurances that "I'm fine."

Didn't you learn in school, to read between those lines that filled the pages of your notebook like stolen dreams and broken promises?

When will someone see.

That I am alive but I am dying.

Awake but dead inside.

Suicide would be cheating myself of a life I don't seem to have much control over. I guess being a pawn in the game of life is only useful when you die the way the masters choose. You do not pass go, there is no jail, you rot within the corners of your mind and you say nothing.

Silence screams and rings in agonizing patterns whenever you find some sort of hope. Making hell sound like a beautiful place.

God must spit on you often.
Because no other person I know could be treated so cruel. Not an inkling or love found within my bible. Page after page of words and words alone that I am supposed to believe in.
A holy father that left me in my sorrows year after year.

Mentioning Angels gives you nightmares. Only good  people can be so loved. You have no right to even wish for a happier afterlife. If so, be assured that you will burn in ways not mentioned in your bible. Hell now seems so kind.

Mother ***** in front of you.
Frozen and immobile doing nothing,  because that's all you can do.
Nothing.

As your fear of men grows in the way your "Father" touches amd demands your affections. One wrong move, one unwanted word, and you will pray for death quick and swift. Asking Santa yet again, not to live another year.

When my blood blossomed into ruby droplets and my face swell as I walked to school, shaken and terrified. I prayed that God would take my life. I didn't want it.

Praying to a god that never came.


He never,





came..