We are the people that you created.
A generation going nowhere.
We are the kids that you hate.
Brought up by fear and paranoia.
The technology era,
distinguished by guns and violence.
Raised and spoiled;
aggression and hate the new emotions.
Alienated from each other.
Passion and empathy completely diminished.
A dystopian world,
ruled by liars and thieves.
Pain is coupled with pleasure.
Angst and depression consuming the minds.
Break away from the hate.
Become a better generation.
We are not the nowhere kids.

I'm trapped in my head,
and there's no way out.
I'm screaming and crying,
but there's no one to hear me.
Can't you tell I'm dying here?
There's no longer a life-line
for me to hang on to.
I'm drowning in here.
I'm struggling to take a breath.
I'll smile to prove I'm okay,
but the hurt on your face
haunts me every day.
I can't help the dreams
or the flashbacks which keep me screaming.
Self-medication won't take away
the constant throb of pain.
I'm hurting the ones I love
with the thoughts in my head.
The crossroads of red
are the only things making me feel alive.
I'm an actress;
everything will be alright
as long as I keep pretending.

Who is that girl in the mirror?
Her eyes are vacant and red.
Hair is uncombed and knotted.
Track marks line her arms,
and she’s smiling, but those eyes.
They’re haunted and dead.
What have you seen, girl?
The horrors are forced back.
Repressed memories torment her mind-
what’s left of it, anyways.

She’s only 12, but she looks 19.
A life on the streets;
Her own personal hell.
Abandoned and left to die
by a dad that didn’t know
how to raise a child.
Drugs and alcohol his main priority.

You wouldn’t last a minute
living inside my head.
What have I seen?
God can’t save my soul.
Time does heal the wounds,
but a band-aid is only temporary.
There’s a toxic hole
where my heart should be.

The scars are still there;
Those men in expensive cars
smelling like alcohol and cigarettes.
Maybe I’ll make some money for food
or try to find some new clothes.
Young girls don’t last too long
outside in the cold.

Our pasts don’t define us,
but they sure as hell create us.
Maybe they’ll break us
and remake us.
But what has been broken
can't always be repaired.

It has been four years,
and I'm still an antidepressant away
from completely losing my mind.
The roses on your grave
have all deteriorated and died.
My heart has a hole
where you're meant to be.
And maybe that place
has been dead for awhile.
I can't even cry,
because there are no tears left.
You stole them away
when you took your last breath.
I screamed, did you know?
It was a new kind of pain,
not one I was used to.
I was led down some path.
It was dark and all twisted.
I couldn't get out; I was eaten alive.
These scars remind me
that this is not my imagination.
If I could rip out my heart,
I would give it to you.
Just to see what it would be like
to say goodbye.
Would you still love me
if you saw me these days?
Or would you turn your back
like everyone else?
It's been four long years,
but you're always on my mind.
It's like a knife in the gut,
twisting and turning.
Your face haunts my dreams,
but it's slowly fading.
Soon it will be forgotten;
a small glimmer in the breeze.
But a small voice will remind me
you are somewhere,
resting with ease.

If I could, I would make sure
you never took another breath.
If I could, I would break your bones,
the way you tortured mine.
And if I could, I'd count the minutes
while I watched you burn alive.
If I could, I'd laugh out loud
while you were sobbing on the ground.
I would take the time to have a beer
and have all my friends gather around.
I'd hope you would look up at me,
the way I raised my eyes to you.
If I could, I'd ignore your begging,
the way you ignored mine.
And if I could, I'd show you
what it was like to feel half-alive.
But, alas, these things I cannot do,
for I am different-not like you.
I have a heart and I have a soul,
bandaged and healing, but there.
If I could, I would walk away.
I am different-not like you.

I've been tired and so uninspired.
It's as if the world is moving,
but I'm stuck in place.
Everyone is moving forward
as I'm falling backward.
I can't find the light to look to.
My inspiration has run dry,
creativity a bleak blip on the radar.
I need a kick to start back up.