I can't remember
Who am I pretending to be?
The perfect daughter?
The happy friend?
The mature teenager?
The last one holds shades of honesty
I'm mature
But too mature
You can see it
In my tired eyes
I've seen too much
To ever be normal
Too much blood
I've seen the inside of my wrist
Nightmares
In the middle of the day
I have a gap between
My cut up thighs
A gap between
Me and my generation
A gap where
My skin should be
I'm full of holes
From your gun
I've been playing Russian Roulette
And it's pointed at myself
My bullets are hidden
In the food I don't eat
In the silent glares
In the empty pencil sharpener
Can anyone see me?
Or are they staring through me?
Questionable Content
A label to sum up
The mess I am
Girls covered in scars
They're hiding behind locked doors
Like someone else I know
For once
She didn't slap my book shut
And hand me a pass to guidance
She examined my work
She saw the art
And accepted the terrors
That's not my only content
I've stepped out of my own pages
Or maybe I put myself into them
My arms are written on
In a dead language
My bones peek through my paper skin
My pain is tattooed in my veins
You can't take the demon from me
We're the same entity
The same monster
All my "friends" should run
And find out what their running from
First
They run from my ideas
My anger and pain
My depression
They're lucky
