dying to survive.She spends her night with a bottle of rum that's half gone,shedding her tears to goodbye songs.You can ask her "what's wrong?", and her?She'll just smile.Walk in the next room to keep a low profile.She doesn't care about the fastest way to get paid...Nobody tells her what to do, except the switchblade.One cut here - nobody will notice,until she looses so much blood her eyes can't focus.It's hopeless to tell her that things will get better,when she gets otherwise from the weather.Cause everytime she's looking out that window,it's black in the midst.And she can only see the tracks on her wrists.She figures, being alone is not that bad,if you ever had the childhood that she once had.You see, she talks about her Dad... In the form of a question, like:"Was he drunk, when he didn't wear protection?"She said, the world is so pretty, when she closes her eyes.Her friends tell her that they love her, but she knows it's a lie!Cause everytime she cries out, they float in the sk
Tears on the Pillow:Tears on the Pillow:Broken,Shattered: Thrown to pieces,Scattered about you, your heart stands alone.Words to break take & unmake a boy, a girl.Simplicity no longerA reality.Was it ever?Did you ever see so simple before?Tears stream down the cloth pillow,Anger, sorrow filled fists clench and ripSmall scrapingsPuncturing your tenders nailsInto your bedding.Fingers grasping tightly; small whinnies escape,Moaning a cry of painHazarding one last release from withinAs shards of glass pierce the heart,Over and over again,Tempting past demons to enter:"Drip…Drop…Drip"And then it stops.The End is the End…Is the beginning.