I'd rather you use bombs and knives,
I'd rather you use guns and swords.
I'd rather that we would have fights;
that you'd leave me with open sores.

I'd rather you find a different weapon,
a different tool to use on me.
I wish you'd make me feel a pain;
I wish you'd leave me weak and ******.

Yet the sharpest tool is what you use;
you leave me dead inside.
I wish you'd tear my heart out;
I wish I would have died.

You open your mouth and the weapons spill out,
you're armed with words that you scream and shout.
The pain is unbearable, the torture indescribable.
I know there's no point in putting up a struggle.

You **** me, one by one,
your words an open ****.
They slice me up in pieces,
making me feel like trash.

All I can be is silent;
I know that is the best.
I try to block them out,
but they're already in my chest.

Your words are killing me;
a slow, antagonizing death.
Each word you say cuts me,
each wound raw and fresh.

I wish you'd let me be,
I wish you'd leave it unsaid.
I guess you just can't see
you can't bring someone back from the dead.

Mother, I feel your pain
Your grief
It's coursing through my veins
As if I must take it away;
It has become my quest
Until this body turns to dust.

Oh, Mother, I am living sores of yours,
Feeling it all
Deep in my core.
Never thought of having a choice
Until I've discovered the voice
Of my own.

Mother, your sadness soaks through my bones
The very marrow of those
Yet through time that flowed
Between then and now
I realised I am owed
To pave the roads
Of my own.

In the cold and silent morning i feel the need of having you,
Just a little touch to make my heart so pure.

Like little arrows the rain pours,
it leaves me with sores,
only a gentle touch could fix.