Lonely-depression turns into aggression, how can I move forward in a constant state of regression. By my shadow I am stalked, the outline of my body lined in chalk. Will anyone listen, will you please hear me when I talk?
Is the world as cold as I perceive it to be, would anyone notice the day that I leave? Pillow-talk is nothing more than whispering prayers, my willingness to hold on is like a game of truth or dare.
Do they not see the razor-sharp edges of their words, They flock to my position to criticize in herds. Like animals so carnal in nature, blind to their actions, they don't see the danger.
Maybe they will when it's already too late, I wait for the day they're consumed by their own hate. Words are weapons as we all know, so be mindful of the words spilled by your inks flow.