Better off dying.
Too old for games,
Never old for pain.
I'll be a ***** to talk to someone twice younger than me,
I'm sure there is one escape plan I can think of, you see.
Most of you are thirteen years old but yet we experience the same thing.
Chirp, chirp, chirp is what the caged bird wanted to sing.
He's lost his chance to chirp, but so have I.
I just don’t want to say my final goodbye.
It's been six minutes already since he's said, "Wait, just give me a chance to explain myself."
But I just want to scavenge the bathroom shelf.
Little bottles and magic pills,
Is where all the truths have spilled.
My teenage angst has caught up to my sins, my soul, and my heart.
Finally, will it run up to my breath and finish the start?
Tell me it will not.
For I will believe you that my arteries will not clot.
I hate the way when I get too attached,
Then too collapsed.
I hate the way when I get too emotional,
Then too unapproachable.
I hate the way when I get too paranoid,
Then too destroyed.
I hate the way I talk to you,
The way I fiddle my hands and twitch my lips.
The way I remove myself from groups just to be with you.
The way I play with my hair and feel the need to throw up.
I hate the way I want you,
Lustfully, and love-fully.
I hate the way I need you,
From the dangerous plead.
This is all going too fast, please reverse this speed.
I can't go on for much longer, but who would know,
For all that I feel
is within the unknown.