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I'm a Broken Person if you Couldn't tell
I want to break down into two maybe then I won't feel so blue,
I want cry but I don't know why,
I want to scream as if someone would hear,
I want live for only a year,
I get confused more then I'd like to hear,
I hate lifting up my fists or picking up a fight,
I am a worrier but not like others,
I break more then lead inside pencil covers,
My heart beats fast at a constant rate,
It beats loud sometimes more then I can take,
My memory fades when my stress consumes,
It fades away faster the a flower that blooms.
Am I a human or just a stick of butter,
Will I melt away?
oh please my dear mother guide me through this gate and heart my heart free,
It's tired of hurting and tired of the stings,
Like a bee the poor little things,
They die within each sting like my heart and every pulled string,
I have no anger till it's reached the top,
One day I'll blow or maybe this bottle cap will pop,
I'm not good at writing I'm sure you could tell,
But one day I won't be here,
And someday I'll spell,
The pain that flurrishes inside my bodied hell,
At least it's inside and not outside it's veil but like in myths all vails end up like a broken spell.
© WinterAngel
I want cry but I don't know why,
I want to scream as if someone would hear,
I want live for only a year,
I get confused more then I'd like to hear,
I hate lifting up my fists or picking up a fight,
I am a worrier but not like others,
I break more then lead inside pencil covers,
My heart beats fast at a constant rate,
It beats loud sometimes more then I can take,
My memory fades when my stress consumes,
It fades away faster the a flower that blooms.
Am I a human or just a stick of butter,
Will I melt away?
oh please my dear mother guide me through this gate and heart my heart free,
It's tired of hurting and tired of the stings,
Like a bee the poor little things,
They die within each sting like my heart and every pulled string,
I have no anger till it's reached the top,
One day I'll blow or maybe this bottle cap will pop,
I'm not good at writing I'm sure you could tell,
But one day I won't be here,
And someday I'll spell,
The pain that flurrishes inside my bodied hell,
At least it's inside and not outside it's veil but like in myths all vails end up like a broken spell.
© WinterAngel
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