The butterflies in my stomach turned into bombs,
And joyful tears are now sobs.
Sobs and cries go on for so long,
Yet I don't know where they belong,
Because here when the wind blows or a crow crows or meadows grow-the silence will go wrong,
And my cries are weak and I can't tell which are mine when mixed with those whose are strong.
The same goes with screams,
The noise has never faulted and has a constant stream,
They're so broken they join in teams,t
But put broken pieces in a bag and it'll just end up ripped at the seams,
So they mix and I can't tell if I'm still screaming or if that's another kid stuck in a life that's wished to be a bad dream.
So tell me should I hate myself for being weak,
Or is that noise coming from you and a body that needs someone to come seek,
Tell me should my wrist have red liquid leak,
Because I was selfish enough to squeak.
_________________
I was confused.
