what use to be our place is now taken over
people who were once just like us seeped through the cracks
and polluted the air like creeping trendils of smoke and vile ideas.

Ideas thrown up like simply created graffiti
not always welcome but interesting to wonder about in the silence
ideas of the future, of what we could do if we put our minds to it.

Feelings that got interrupted on one side
but disregarded on the other
left to drift apart rather then sail together.

I've never learnt to settle you down not to be a_ _

To you, the one who is useless at everything.
To you, the one who is weak in front of everyone.
To you, the one who is despicable.
To you, the one who has no true friends.
To you, the one who is truly unique.

You will lose and you will fail over and over again.
You were not born with the things others have.
You will need to obtain them with your own hands.
And even when you do, even when you've struggled pathetically.
You will still be, just you.

Tonight I took a risk
And once again sliced my wrists
But instead of five I did ten
And little blood came out when
I pressed a little harder
And the blade cut a little farther
I looked like a tiger with it’s stripes
And I’m willing to face all the gripes
You’ll probably leave me when you see my scars
Because you’ll realize all the harm
It stings a little but still feels good
You didn’t understand and you never would
You can’t handle a basket case
To you I’m just a waste
Let’s see how they look tomorrow
Because tonight they filled me with sorrow
They didn’t bleed like I’d hope
Maybe next time I’ll try the rope
I’m a ***** up and don’t deserve life
I argue with myself about what to do and with which knife
I lay here now wrists stinging
The sandman with sleep he’s bringing
I’m upset at myself more than you are at me
So don’t yell or use harsh words during your plea
I’m sorry for what I’ve done
There is nothing more I can do, none
Maybe it’s more than ten
I stopped counting around then
You’ll leave me tomorrow I know it
Whether or not I refuse to show it
The scars will still remain
And you’ll think of me with cruel disdain
Hate me for all I care
This heavy cross I’ll always bare
Give me another reason to hate my soul and body
Give me another bad habit to proclaim as a hobby
I’m an artist by nature and I paint with my blood
And when I’m done my sharp edged paint brush will drop with a thud
I don’t care anymore and I wish life was simpler
I suppose T.S Elliot was correct: this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper