I’ve been writing so much hardly poetic lyrics to get away from my less than glamorous life. Nothing’s been feeling the same. Todays are becoming more like wishful thinking and yesterdays are excuses for leaving you behind. I’ve never felt more lonely as when I sit in the middle of my school on a bench and watch everyone just walk past me. I’ve never felt more invisible or is invincible what I’m supposed to say?
Everyone’s got a someone more important these days. Someone they actually enjoy being around. I’m just the second choice to death, but aren’t death and I just best friends holding hands? Maybe after over a decade, I’ve depended on you to be there for me. Now you’re moving on to everyone else in the world; you’ve got more potential than just a neverbe. That’s my word, the definition: me. Welcome to the dictionary of depression, subscribers? One. Writers? None. This stuff writes itself, babe.
You’ve got a new clone. I’m so quick to replace, but I’m a lover to revenge. Who needs me, my opposite can do a better job? You all got over the trend. Bye bye, girlie, you went out two years ago. This social scene moves on quickly! Hurry up, girlie! You just fell behind.
I’m all alone again -change is when you know it’s coming back to kick you in the ass– and the worst part is all I can say is, “it’s my fault.”
I’d rather talk to computer screens and send my love to speakers. This world is in hysterics and I’m still trying not to break down. Emo’s not a scene without all the moody teens. Let’s just call this a promotional ad and slit our wrists till we die. Oh, babe, you won’t have to wait long, death’s coming over for tea tomorrow.
I confess my soul in words I don’t even understand. Not so beautiful when your laughing, but such a pretty girl when your bleeding on that bathroom floor. Don’t cover yourself with all that plastic surgery so you’ll actually appear sincere when you say, “are you thinking about commiting suicide?” If I didn’t ponder, didn’t wonder, how do I “get my head out of the clouds” as you say. You’re contradicting yourself and I’m following every word you say. Never called myself truthful.
I’m a liar and a bitch. Frankly, you can cast a spell on me, but spare the effort and just pour a bucket of water.
Decided to attempt to learn to play the piano. How else do you know when you should just stick to listening to music? I learned the first 10 measures of “My Immortal” by Evanescence. If I painted myself black, would it make me prettier?
Don’t call me emo, I’m not too good with diguised poetic words and I’ve got no scars. Besides, love’s never looked so ugly. You need to find love to lose it again in order to start bleeding for it. I’m just faker of fakes, do I come close to being real? This storybook laying out in front of me, oh wait, it might just be- no, it couldn’t be- oh yes, it may be… it just may be my life.
If my last wishes were to have you in this grave I’ve buried myself in, would you follow me to the ends of the world?
“Look at them trying to get the flag higher.
Look at the quagmire.
Look at the tread separate from the tire.
Look at the junky trying to get a gram.
Look at the betting man.
Look at him folding on a better hand.
It’s always right, the fearless light in the dark of night.
Give up the world, give up your life cause you cannot fight the television.”