(Nena: I don't own. And I am sorry it's so sad.)
I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore
They are all the same. They see me as the evil person, the stranger that kills in the night. That's not the truth, I am yours. Don't you rememmber? I use to tell you the storys of my past, how he destroyed my village, killed my family and friends, old and young. That crippling anger drove me, allowed the monster to posses me, and in an esent, you. You saw me, that night long ago. Tears fell and my eyes became red an sore with each sinful cry. You had promissed I wouldn't ever be alone again, hurt again, but here I am.
A fragile frame aged
With misery
And when our eyes meet
I know you see
I'm fragile, just a frame of an ancent theif that all hated. I've soffered for years, aging with no one, only misery kept me warm. Misery and hatered. Our eyes meet across the room and I wounder, 'Do you see me?' I know you see me, your eyes light with raconishion and understanding, before hate flickers across them and you turn to talk to your friends. You leave me freezing and afraid.
I do not want to be afraid
I do not want to die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I find it when
I am cut
I don't want to be afraid. I don't want to be afraid! I run, run away from that room of hostal faces, runing away from the darkness blinding me. I'm not fast enough. I can't get away. I can't breathe! I can't! I don't want to die! I don't want to die on the inside to breathe in! I run, runing home, far away from this desalnt place and lock myself in my room. I cry, but no relief finds me. I loseit, lashing out untill...there, relief in the pain on my wrist. With a look, I see my nails had cut into it. I walk over to my wall and take one of my knifes off the wall. A sharp one bejawed on the hailt with rudys as dark as my blood. I cut, and relief finds me. "So it does exists?" I hear myself before I laugh a madining laugh.
I may seem crazy
Or painfully shy
And these scars wouldn't be so hidden
If you would just look me in the eye
I feel alone here and cold here
Though I don't want to die
But the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside
It has been a week. Some wisper that I am crazy. They wisper that I'm painfully shy. They wisper because I stoped talking and glaring, because I pulled back from this world, and only laugh at my own ideals. I don't want to die, not at all. I wear long sleeves, they cover my arms, hiding the cuts, the scars. Maybe I'd tell you, if you would just look me in the eyes. Maybe if you knew I am alone and cold you would cast a warm sun-like smile my way instead of at him. I really don't want to die, but the only thing that helps me now is slowly killing me.
I do not want to be afraid
I do not want to die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I find it when
I am cut
Pain
I am not alone
I am not alone
I'm still afraid, but I don't want to be. I don't want to die is a comane thought, but it's so hard to breathe. I'm sleepy. I look at the hidden arm, I'm tired of being numb. I uncover my arm, cuting again. The only emoshion to ever be found by me, relief, flouds me again. I try to tell myself I'm not alone, repeating it as I bandage my newist scare. The pain is long sence gone.
I'm not a stranger
No I am yours
With crippled anger
And tears that still drip sore
I bump into you, and your forced to see me. At first you treat me like a stranger, but when I corret you by telling you no, I'm yours, crippling anger is all I reseve. You yell at me, hitting me, hating me. You don't see the tears still dripping, you don't see my puffy red, sore eyes. I turn and run, your words following me all the way to that room, my room, the room that bares witness to my crimes against myself.
But I do not want to be afraid
I do not want to die inside just to breathe in
I'm tired of feeling so numb
Relief exists I found it when
I was cut
I don't want to be afread anymore. I don't want to die inside to breathe in. I'm tired of feeling so numb. Of feeling nothing. Of hurting. Of every last little thing. I take a pen and wright a short note; Good Bey World. Then I take a knife, this one is a athem and go over to my bed. I made it, making the bed look beutiful. I change into a black sute and lay down on the bed. I cut, relief and tears fill me. I cut my wrists, I cut my throut. It's painful, dieing this way. I lay my hands on my chest. I close my eyes. The darkness wins over as I slowly slip into it's arms. I swear in the background I here the door open and a cry. It doesn't matter though. I smile, no one would miss me. You told me that before I ran. To bad you didn't say something else, maybe then my life would have become something more.
