Made of stone.

What's the point in living,
when living here is hell.
What's the point cutting,
if no one would care if i killed myself.

My world has slowly become blurry,
but its not because of the scars.
It's because these tears have become a permanent,
reminder of why I wish on these stars.

I'm trapped inside a place,
that's meant to be my home.
I'm meant to believe that these people love me,
when their hearts are made of stone.

Locking myself in a bathroom,
and crying all night long.
Skipping school because my tears make me sick,
to them that doesn't sound very wrong.

I am an evil child,
I know its true.
Because ever since I was born,
I brought bad luck to you.

But why didn't you leave me?
The way so many others have done.
It's not like you haven't made it clear,
you can't see past your son.

Living like this only reminds me,
how much happier I'd be alone.
I'd rather not be loved,
that be loved by hearts made of stone.