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by Brianna Breakkdown Apr 1, 2007 category : Sadness, depression / about depression
Jews used to have a tattoo on their wrist; And to me, my tears do something like this. They've decided that I'm theirs to keep, To torture me even in my sleep. They own my eyes, they own my face, They've made my heart their living place. They like to beat me till I bleed, They enjoy when with them I plead. I beg them just to go away, But they tell me this is where they'll eternally stay. They cut my skin with a sharp-bladed knife, And stab me deep when I'm encountered with strife. They're flaming as they race down my cheeks, This is how my master speaks. They constantly kick me when I'm down, They slap my face and deform it to a frown. They love it when I'm in pain, Because that's the time for their big reign. My happiness is torn away, So now these tears are here to stay. When I'm alone in the night, They fill my eyes when I'm frigid with fright. They trip me and make me fall to the ground, I try to scream, but no one hears a sound. They chose me to be their victim, but why? What did I do to deserve to cry? Why does blood run down my face, Why can't I seem to end this frightening chase? They control me and make me do Whatever the hell they want me to. I don't want to be like this, I want to get back my warmth and bliss! They make me watch as my memories, they kill They hold my eyes open even when they overfill. Why do they have to kick me when I'm sad, Why do they enjoy seeing me so mad? I'm tired of this pain that I feel, I don't even know what's fake and what's real. I hate these tears, hate this war zone, Why do I have to be the one they own?