April 12, 1990, my enemy is born.
Dark hair with dark eyes, a girl none the less.
But sheâ??s grown now.
She holds her head up high, walks with an attitude.
She shows no true emotion, hides her scarred and bloodied soul.
Not a soul sees through her mask.
Not a single person has seen her opened up.
Sheâ??ll make you believe sheâ??s ok.
Make you believe she can do anything.
She can be mean,
she can be nice,
but this girl is the one thatâ??s held the knife.
Her life wasnâ??t always hard;
there have been many good times,
but the bad out weight the good 100 to 2.
Through many suicidal thoughts,
suicidal acts,
the blade slid across her wrist,
the flame was thrown with a twist.
She crawls through life slowly fearing whatâ??s to come next.
She tells me Iâ??m a loser,
that I can never make it
She calls me a coward because my vein I just canâ??t break it.
She is so mean to me, always bringing me down.
Her name I cannot tell you the time just isnâ??t right,
but deep with in my soul she causes a fright.
Her body is scarred.
Her soul wounded as well.
Sheâ??s been broken down a time or two.
She spends more time in the graveyard than she ever has at home.
Her friends are all in the graveyard,
leaving her alone.
Holding her hand Iâ??ve found she wants to do home for good,
to let go of everything,
to bring herself to the lowest of lows.
Something wonâ??t let her, some one who cares.
Her family leaves her alone, sheâ??s mean to them.
Iâ??m the only one she has.
This girl, her wrists are scarred,
every Scar tells a part of history she couldnâ??t share.
Every wound is a lie easier to tell.
Her soul is in shambles her heart looks like a train wreck.
Her soul is alone to many crosses to bear.
Her hearts been broken shattered to smithereens.
The words she wishes to speak are so hard to find.
She canâ??t open her mouth and let go of her mind.
Her mask has worn thin.
The paint is chipping,
the plaster is splitting.
Her arms no longer show her pain.
Her cheeks arenâ??t tear stained any longer.
She tricks you.
You believe sheâ??s ok now.
Her magic show has just begun.
Sheâ??s not ok.
Her mind controls her, she cant control her mind.
The agony sheâ??s ran through,
the torment sheâ??s brought on,
will she ever make it to the end of her marathon?
These words are hard to read.
I drew you a mental picture.
A girl in misery,
heart broken and bleeding,
tears flowing down her cheeks,
crumpled up on the floor.
You think about how hard that can be,
but think about this..
How bad is it that Iâ??m my own worse enemy?
