Wounded men at barstools
turn and watch her walk away
they try to play it cool
but their blood spurts to her hips sway

She held them up, cleavage for miles
dressed to the nines in her heels
shot them with her shotgun smiles
and laughs as they bleed and reel

Egos destroyed, she did not sit
just kept on walking by
now they wither bit by bit
as their machismo, slowly dies

Am I distant,
I am in the room,
But I don't feel there,
I am speaking,
But the real words don't come out,
Do people recognize me,
If I die today,
Would anyone realize,
I'm trapped in my head,
Screaming to tell people how I feel,
I need help,
Help,
HELP!

Our lives are just like books
Filled with numerous chapters
We may not like what’s inside
But turning the page and
Continuing the story
Is the only way to move on