I have this darkness
Creeping up inside of me
One day it will reach my neck
Stopping the air flow
Silencing my screams
And I'll fall to the floor
Choking, gasping for air
But no one will hear
Sometimes love and hate are hard to differentiate.
They both give me sensory overload,
Even when there is nothing to
When there is nothing to
Silence can turn into screaming when I think about you.
I am bound to go deaf.
i hate a good love, and i love a good hate
They say things change.
And that's absolutely true.
Clothes and shoes.
But the thing is, none of that matters
Unless people change.
The same people are still screamin,
Still fighting for the same reasons.
We've built a world where words
Have as much power as angels
I'll be the first to admit. I have no idea where to start.
But we need to change now
Before we drift even further apart.
I tell myself that I'm leaving,
to go alone and scream into the night air.
I arrive and try, the air in my throat is tight.
Sounds of anguish and frustration unable to holler out,
I tell myself that nothings changing,
so I grab a lighter that I've been hiding, and hold the tumour between my lips.
Slobbering tears as I lite my stress, this is as close to death as I can feel.
The venom dripping from my mouth,
my foot pressing harder against the pedal down this country strip.
A referendum in my mind embellished with motivation,
so I tilt the wheel and leave it to momentum.
The world is sick
Locked in my room
And trapped in my head
My eternal prison cell
Screaming at four walls
PLEASE LET ME OUT
My life is like a weight
Pushing my body down a
Deep, dark abyss
Deeper and deeper
Until I'm consumed by
My body shakes from the pressure
Of not being pretty enough
Of not being smart enough
Of not being enough
My eyes are swollen
No amount of makeup can cover up
The puffiness that plants itself
On my eyelids every morning
I cry out
But no one hears.
Will anyone ever hear?
Rinse and repeat
The words are twisting around me,
wringing me out like a wet towel.
The tune is stretched and thin
as if it's an ode to the last of my happiness.
It speaks to me almost as loud
as the ghosts screaming in my ears,
except the unprescribed medication
I drown myself in
doesn't keep it out of my head.
I have to remind myself daily --
they don't know you
they don't care about you
the words aren't sung about you.
But how could they not,
when they ring so true?
How can they not
when my stomach turns
to the time of the music,
when the tears leak out of my eyes
the same way the last notes
leave the guitar?
How can they not
when they're the only bridge to reality
I have left?