people don't notice us when we're around
but we're so popular when we're underground
they wake up to find a corpse in their beds
meanwhile, there's a bullet in our heads
thoughts and feelings can't be expressed
they don't know that we're depressed
wine and liquor help us forget
but it's just a binding, a tight corset
we can't ever do anything right
we can't do anything to fight
all our strings have broken, they can't be repaired
they don't realise that we're only scared
YOU ARE READING
A Little Thing Called Death
Puisii won't explain many of these. they are for you to work out and they'll probably mean something different to everyone. (i own these poems) ((FINISHED.))
