In my head, I am eleven,
still becoming a woman, still remembering
what it was like to write about something
I knew nothing about.
Abandoned potential and missed opportunities,
Disappear into a crowd, blend with the masses
losing the remains of who I am in possibilities,
The woman I could have been turned to ashes.
Transgression of divine law, promise to forgive my sin
Ambitions lost to failures, life unbecoming,
Finding my only comfort in empty bottles of gin,
Tell me why I am addicted to my own haunting.
Slice my throat, cut me open and I’ll bleed ink,
The corpse of a girl discarded when she can no longer perform
dare defy my words and you\'ll suffer the rage
of someone who can no longer inflict harm.
Ice has since replaced blood in what some may still call a heart
Follow unspoken rules and obey silent laws
I don\'t know, I feel my appeal disappears with my hurt.
I have no clue what is left of the girl I was.
I have been told I always smile like I’m about to cry.
It pains me, but I know their anguish.
I’d rather live with the hurt than say goodbye,
but every day, I see my efforts languish.
Maybe I will always write about sorrow, about hurt,
but if I am able to remember that there\'s beauty
hidden somewhere in your eyes, if i can dance, flirt,
I might be able to sit, for once, to breathe and enjoy my tea.