Is it possible to live for the crying?
Or maybe this is what it is like to be dying.
My breath is haunted by all the hurtful memories,
I think maybe they will not fight if I dot all my I’s and cross all my T’s.
Her screams echo against the wall,
While his yells thunder down the hall.
Each one not caring how much this makes me feel alone.
So I decided to cut to dull the pain,
It was not hard to fool my friends who thought I was somehow sane.
There was no other solution when the scars kept going away.
So my last memory is on the bottom floor of a bay.
Now time and space have no hold,
Of her life she is now letting go.