Pen In Hand

Pen in hand, my weapon of choice.
A single sheet of paper, and they hear my voice.
The girl with the story, the girl with a past.
She finds salvation, but can't get it to last.
Finding herself within the ink, only to pick up a blade.
Bleeding off her mask, only to heal over with a new masquerade.
Pen in her hand again, she's got one more shot.
A new sheet of paper, but the ink starts to blot.
Her words smudge together, like the thoughts inside her mind.
Frustration overcomes her, it's the pills she has to find.
Strength to get up and search every cranny, every nook.
But the strength diminishes, within the number of pills she already took.
This is it, one last chance to pick up her pen.
To tell the story, of the girl she has to leave in the then.
Because this is the now, and she's got to make this right.
No more blades, no more pills, not as of this night.
Pen in hand, all she needs to make it through.
The story of us all, of me and of you.