It’s the little things.
It’s the little things.
The little smiles.
The little laughs.
The little secrets.
Behind the glass.
The little shadows
In the dark.
The little voices
That tear you apart.
The little mumbles
In your head.
They won’t let you
Go to bed.
The little fake smiles
That you use
To hide
Your flaws
To hide your cuts.
It’s the little things.
The little giggles.
The little smirks.
The little murmurs
Coming from jerks.
The little insults
They tell you each day.
The little waves
That keep you away.
The little rumours
Spread all around.
They make you want to
Hide underground.
The little tear marks
On your cheeks
That show
Your battles
That show your scars.
It’s the little things.
The little sniggers.
The little lies.
The little teardrops
In your eyes.
The little monsters
With sharp claws.
The little ways
They show your flaws.
The little pains
In your arm.
That you cut
While everyone was gone.
The little brush
You used
To apply
Your perfect
Makeup.
It’s the little things.
The little knives
They call words.
The little guns
Shooting innocent birds!
The little girl
Sitting alone.
Praying she
Is on her own.
She doesn’t want
A soul to see
What she has been doing
Recently.
The little numbness
That she felt
When she
Was alive.
It’s the little things.
The little time.
The little crowds.
The little flashbacks
Flood her deep down.
The little ghost
Watching over.
The memories
Flooding all over.
The quiet grief.
As she weeps
Wishing it
Didn’t have to be that way.
The little regret
So she cries.
They call it
Suicide.
It’s the little things.