3-11-09
I can’t find the right words today,
They just are not coming to me
as easily as they sometimes do,
I’ll just keep writing until I find ‘em.
And my breathing is shallow – I tend
to get a little scared when I can’t express myself,
Well I think my past paints that picture just right.
Cuts on my arm and hands gripping my heart,
As I try not to give it away but is it a choice at all?
My fingers are slipping, getting bloody ‘cause I really
dug my nails in and now my heart is falling to pieces
in her hands, in her hands.
I get scared when I can’t write because I think I
might have just lost the only way I can express myself,
and the only thing about myself that I sometimes like.
I think I look to her and go ‘well she’s so beautiful,
I can write about her ‘til my fingers fall off’ but
so far they’re just red and blistered, and my wrists
are hurting from writing, not cutting, that was further up
just below the elbow, but that only stings a little now,
as the skin starts to heal, and wow, I’m good at stuffing up,
and I’m so bad at living. And I’m so tragic at living.