Scapegoat

I'm sitting in the darkness, a blade in my pocket, open and ready to be used
When I wonder why life has to be this way
Why is it always me?
Why must I always be the scapegoat?
Why must I be the one to suffer?
What drives a parent to give birth to a newborn and decide, "This one shall be the black sheep."
What drives a parent to see their kid on the floor crying, but would rather focus on the others instead?
Yet they sit there and wonder why kids turn to sex, drugs, and cutting
When they're the ones who push them on the ground
And kick them until they're forever emotionally dead
As I think about this, blood is dripping down my wrists
And the black sheep is gone
Forever