Things I Was Thinking

no scars on a skeleton

she was twenty and unhappy,

no one cared about her and she knew.

she watched her 'friends' live their lives,

spent hers on the boundaries,

looking into reality,

trying to kid herself that she was ok.

she wasn't.

but she was damn well trying to be.

never happy and always alone,

maybe she'd be better off

rotting underground as bones.

no scars on a skeleton.

she'd make pretty flowers,

buried with the dead.

her tombstone woould be as cold,

as the remainders of her skin.

she'd be kept in a fridge.

a science experiment,

doctors trying to understand her.

what's to understand?

lovely girl so lonely,

she had slit her throat and bled. 

she'll always be bleeding.

her mind would stay very much alive.

lost and wondering with her soul,

staying with all who cared.

no one cared, no one.

she had stopped caring herself.

no one loves you when you don't love you.

flaws block arteries.

kill the heart, it hurts most.

blood rusty as the machine,

that would lower her into the ground.

all because she was twenty and unhappy,

and she never made a sound.