Running away
I don't cut my armbut so they stare.
Some how I wonder why they would care.
The little boy, even knows. He ponders and I show.
There are no cuts on my wrist.
I use a different way to find bliss.
They call me emo, and I turn, I can never figure out why that name burns.
I burry my pain deep inside, my mom screams when she finds out why.
I'm not "right" or so they say. I'm gonna be messed up one day.
I'm not like my brother, but still they compare. It hurts and sometimes Mom cares.
I'm not allowed to write my feelings down, but still, I do. I try not to make a sound.
I all but whimper when they tell me to search my mind
why am I worried about what I might find?
"emo!" They scream from the back of the bus
I turn around and the memory fades. Thats why I sleep, it takes the memories away.
Nightmares I can handle, but life... I walk away down the gravel.
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