I’m a tornado in a bottle but you
Grasp my glass cage and you
𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌
You take me by the (bottle) neck and you
Toss me flying in the air and catch
Me again, flirting with death like life
Is a game, and I’m telling you—
I’m telling you—
𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘐𝘛, 𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘐𝘛, 𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘕—

shattered glass bloodstains
no tears but shock freezing the lines
on your face pick up the pieces
no don’t let it cut your fingers.
sorry. sorry.
sorry. sorry. sorry.

They'll call her ruin.
They'll call her shame.

They'll never call her,
by her name.

Once the deed is done.
Her world it shakes.

As all her secrets.
Are laid out bare.

There is no hiding.
This ruined girl.

They'd call her pretty.
They'd call her smart.
They'd call her art.

Till she fell in love
Then fell apart.

The man he ran.
Like most men do.

Escaping the wreckage.
Of his youth.

The ruined girl,
was left alone.

Becoming a cautionary tale.
Of women's woes.

Whispering through history.
"Be careful with whom you love."

The teeth are brittle and break away.
Blood spills and leaves me…
Alone. It’s been getting worse since May.
Flowers that used to give me color, just remind me of Gray. The sea can’t grow,
no co-sign for my loans,
and tangents never helped me anyway.
The question of “Why?”, equaled ex’s that got eliminated, division from dimensions, so nothing Remains. I can’t integrate happiness into dysfunction, but my voices want to play. They’re constant and fill me with dismay. Help is so far away, it’s just another sign of my exponential decay.

He keeps feeling broken day by day.
This life isn’t a game but us demons keep giving him the play-by-play. The thoughts never go, they stay, drowning his stupid *** again and again until night turns day.
Pills and people are needed but unable to change his way. “Is it possible to substitute U?” He wasn’t needed anyway. He’s so ******* annoying, just call him Billie Kay. What’s the going price of a casket in this age and day? No one will notice him gone,
they couldn’t even say his name.
He appears most likely in Hell, it’s a praise day.
Nah we won’t even hurt him, he ain’t worth the flame.
Bit by bit he’s already done, with so much exponential decay.

We miss take many steps, opportunities and decisions,
All throughout our day,
Shall we see them as demon disasters? Or hidden
Gems along the way?
Even today, mistakes were made,
And regrouping, re-evaluating and redirecting were essential, I’d say.
If I decide they were wrong and a waste,
I’d be in a spin, and Miss Perfectionist would get a wealthy pay.
But, if I choose, they could instead be wisdom pearls,
In which to collect and treasure where they lay.
Then I could re-take, learn and grow,
And I’d stay, not run away, enjoy and play.

My heart goes to the people out their,
                                                            who write their pain on their skin.
This goes out to the addicts,
                                                 The people who starve to be pretty.
This goes out to the victims,
                                                 Who need to hear that it isn't their fault it never was and never will be.

I write my pain on my body,
                                               Reopen the scars of the past,
                              It hurts to think, breath, write, wake up.
                                       Why does it hurt??
           Please god make it stop,
I'm begging you
                            I can grind the glass to my face erase my eyes,
                                        Eat the glass and disappear from the inside,
                                                    But,
­It all feels like home,
                                   Cutting is,
My security blanket,
                                   And their trying to, take it away from me.
                                    Their sending me away.
          Why?
I need to cut myself they can't take it from me.
               I NEED it.

After years of tears
Posing as pointless pity
Dug despair a grave

What a world we live in,
Where we watch while others die.
What a world we live in,
When we hardly bat an eye.

The world looks on,
While the chosen, choose,
To ignore what was done, - to them
Or what it’s like to lose.

Maybe we’d be forgiven,
If we tried to stem the tide,
If our conscience, once driven,
Saved the life of a single child.

We watch them use,
The fickle face of a martyr.
And accede to the ruse,
They’re using babies to barter.

What a world indeed,
And where to hide our shame?
All that power and all that greed,
And it proceeds in our name.