My hands grow tired from holding themselves,
Shoulders are cracked and breaking,
Tried to make changes to better myself,
Now new people are complaining.

Hurt hands heal themselves within the air that you breath.

What would be the harm in leaving this room?
Closing myself from those around,
Shutting my eyes one more time,
So my brain can finally shut down.

Tired and lonely kills my control until the thoughts climb so silently.

Would there be changes if tried repainting?
How many life's would hurt?
Maybe they'd do better to not remember forever,
I wonder what really works?

How much positive could be gained,
If the whole world forget they knew me?

I can't be alone in this thought
© Kasey Spotanski