I wanna go somewhere...
...somewhere no one will ever find me.
Like when you're little.
And you think that you're safe under the blankets.
Or when you hide in the closet.
Or when you would bury yourself in your mother's arms.
Why doesnt it work like that anymore?
I'm twelve.
I'm a train wreck.
I feel unloved.
My closet's no haven,
Nor under the covers.
Nor my mother's arms.
My head's about to explode.
And I want to feel the bullet.
I wanna feel the lead pierce my skull
and slice through my brains.
The cold stinging of a blade on my arm
The point of a safety pin on my hand again
The warmth of the oozing red liquid
Running down my arm.
I can't take much more pressure to be who I'm not
I can't take the fear of my orientation.
Do I like other girls?
Or am I sticking to guys?
I can't tell anymore!
Remember when your mom would pull back the covers and tickle you when you would run down the hall, or up the stairs to make you smile, to hear you giggle in happiness?
Remember when you would hide in the closet when you were being yelled at two days later, silently wishing that she would open the door and tickle you like before?
Remember when you would get scared of the monster under your bed, or the tree scratching your window when the wind blew it about, and you would run to your mother's room and dive under the covers?
You remember the love?
Why isn't it like that now?
Do they think we're adult enough to keep the emotions down? Or that we don't have serious problems? That we can keep the tears contained when we're told off. Or we can shrug off a rejection from our crushes we've liked for years on end?
Why?
What happened?
Did their ear's turn off?
Did their hearts just...stop caring?
...Stop beating?
I want to feel the soft lining of the coffin.
I wanna feel the stitches on my eyes,
In my arms, in my lips.
Want to feel the last flicker of flames,
Lick my body before I burst into hot ash.
Why can't I hold the gun mommy?
It's not like ever horrid feeling's gonna flood back, like
Every bad memory's gonna come back to hit me again.
It's not like I'll raise it to my head and pull the trigger,
Like this...
BOOM!
Remember when you would smile when you mom told you you were the prettiest girl alive?
Remember that you would cry when you would scrape you knee on the sidewalk?
It's never gonna be like that again.
Now we don't smile when Mom says we're pretty.
We don't cry when we scrape our knees.
We say, "I'm not a pretty girl, she is."
We think, "Oh. I fell. That felt kinda nice."
I want things to go back to normal. I would love to be held by someone rather than my mom, or at least be held by my own mother. My arms are getting colder each time I hug myself, and that safety pin's become a really close friend. What happened to the security?
What happened to the love?
Care?
Warm arms?
But the best one to me,
Where'd that gun go?
Dedicated To All The Broken People.
You Know Who You Are.
Good Luck.
See Ya There.
Like when you're little.
And you think that you're safe under the blankets.
Or when you hide in the closet.
Or when you would bury yourself in your mother's arms.
Why doesnt it work like that anymore?
I'm twelve.
I'm a train wreck.
I feel unloved.
My closet's no haven,
Nor under the covers.
Nor my mother's arms.
My head's about to explode.
And I want to feel the bullet.
I wanna feel the lead pierce my skull
and slice through my brains.
The cold stinging of a blade on my arm
The point of a safety pin on my hand again
The warmth of the oozing red liquid
Running down my arm.
I can't take much more pressure to be who I'm not
I can't take the fear of my orientation.
Do I like other girls?
Or am I sticking to guys?
I can't tell anymore!
Remember when your mom would pull back the covers and tickle you when you would run down the hall, or up the stairs to make you smile, to hear you giggle in happiness?
Remember when you would hide in the closet when you were being yelled at two days later, silently wishing that she would open the door and tickle you like before?
Remember when you would get scared of the monster under your bed, or the tree scratching your window when the wind blew it about, and you would run to your mother's room and dive under the covers?
You remember the love?
Why isn't it like that now?
Do they think we're adult enough to keep the emotions down? Or that we don't have serious problems? That we can keep the tears contained when we're told off. Or we can shrug off a rejection from our crushes we've liked for years on end?
Why?
What happened?
Did their ear's turn off?
Did their hearts just...stop caring?
...Stop beating?
I want to feel the soft lining of the coffin.
I wanna feel the stitches on my eyes,
In my arms, in my lips.
Want to feel the last flicker of flames,
Lick my body before I burst into hot ash.
Why can't I hold the gun mommy?
It's not like ever horrid feeling's gonna flood back, like
Every bad memory's gonna come back to hit me again.
It's not like I'll raise it to my head and pull the trigger,
Like this...
BOOM!
Remember when you would smile when you mom told you you were the prettiest girl alive?
Remember that you would cry when you would scrape you knee on the sidewalk?
It's never gonna be like that again.
Now we don't smile when Mom says we're pretty.
We don't cry when we scrape our knees.
We say, "I'm not a pretty girl, she is."
We think, "Oh. I fell. That felt kinda nice."
I want things to go back to normal. I would love to be held by someone rather than my mom, or at least be held by my own mother. My arms are getting colder each time I hug myself, and that safety pin's become a really close friend. What happened to the security?
What happened to the love?
Care?
Warm arms?
But the best one to me,
Where'd that gun go?
Dedicated To All The Broken People.
You Know Who You Are.
Good Luck.
See Ya There.