This bruise is a reminder
of the pain I brought myself,
for being such an outcast,
not fitting with the crowd.
It will always be my fault,
I have to blame me,
if I take a bullet to the head,
finally they'll see.
The words that hurt
the disconcert,
the little cuts and scrapes.
The reality
of what is me,
and what this all means.
Disturbing thoughts of revenge
that never leave my mind,
the little notes left in my diary,
the ones no one will find.
I hide them well,
they are kept safe,
too bad I can't be
in that secure place.
The teachers don't know,
they never really see,
the writing in my textbooks,
the stories about me,
that I'm a loser,
a pathetic little tick,
that I can be gone
from just one little flick.
I am hurt,
I'm lost,
there's no one here to help me,
I need to die at any cost.
It's all my fault,
I've been lost in doubt,
I'm always the whimp,
who gets pushed about,
it doesn't matter how I feel
because it'll always be the same.
it will always be my fault.
I'M THE ONE TO BLAME.
