The bogeyman from my dreams is halfway down the street.

He looks down at his bruises,
The bullies they do this.

She looks down at her scars,
The bullying went way to far.

He smiles,
But the bullying has broken his heart.

The bruises, scars, and broken hearts,
Show nothing in comparison,
To the mental scars.

Why can't they like me,
Why do they hurt me.

These questions come to them,
Daily.

Have you heard these wretched names?
Ugly
Fake
Or even,
Clinically Insane

Have you ever stopped to think,
The pain has made them this way?

No they are not,
Ugly .

No they are not,
Fake .

Never have they been,
Clinically Insane .

But this pain,
Is more potent ,
Then red wine,
On white sheets.

Causing them not to,
Laugh,
Smile,
Or wish to breath.

Bullying,
Don't you see what you have done?

This pain,
Cannot be undone.

And so,
            I painted my nails
            the black lacquer,
            'cos they'll remind me
            you are always here.

            "Just like a rockstar",
            you whispered softly,
            leaving melancholia,
            I live life in solitary.

Just little Miss Ordinary sat in her study.
Almost on her own.
She has a dog and a computer.
What more could she ever want.
Apart from chocolates and snuggles.
Sunday morning cuddles.
Started chatting to a guy called Dave, a musical, poetic man.
Struck a chord or two.
If you read this, yes it's you.
Lots in common, pretty local.
Thought she may have been removed from the land of permanently lonely study.
Potential for a wonderful buddy.
Left her number then he vanished.
Such is life.
Carpe Diem.
(c)Livvi