Then there's mine. Inky pools of mud. Possibly barfed up chocolate.
'Cause even the stars they burn. Some even fall to the earth.
And some fall even farther and burn you-know-where.
I won't give up on us, even if the skies get rough, I'm giving you all my love. I'm still looking up.
There's the difference between us, Jason Mraz. Other than the fact that you are a lot older than me and male, I consider myself a pessimistic pessimist. My view on life is that things won't be good on the short-term or one the long-term. I also consider myself a cutter, so... well, I haven't heard of very many of us being optimists. Sure, you could believe we'll get better, but that changes day-to-day with me. Even now, as I'm drinking underage and the keyboard is looking hazy, but it feels so good because I don't have to feel this. Pain.
As I cry myself to sleep at night until I can't anymore for weeks, I'll think of this. I'll think of the judgement, the rejection, the neglection, the nightmares, the memories, and the only way I can go now. And then I'll remember what they say.
I thought things were going alright, but then reality ruined my life.
Cher Lloyd's Beautiful People must be true, because she says: It's beautiful people like you that get whatever they want...
Obviously not me.
Beer is making my mind hazy. Bottles of alcohol stolen from my mother, but why would she care? She's too drunk to notice if any's missing.
My logic: You know you're pissed as hell (drunk) when you find yourself singing along to love songs. Why sing along to love songs when nobody could ever love you.
Sometimes I wish my suicidal thoughts would act on their own and kill me so I don't have to get up the guts to do it myself.
If you saw me the way I am, would you look away because I'm so ugly or would you grab my bloody arms and tell me to kill myself? As far as I see, those are the only options.
Someone out there somewhere feels the same way I do.
If you're reading this... It sucks, doesn't it?
I pray that everything will be okay but we're making all the same mistakes everyday.
They don't even care until someone dies. They didn't care about any artists or composers until they died. They'll probably never even care for me. But why don't they ever listen until you're dead?
Why can't they see-why can't they help us when we're still alive? Because it takes death to make an impact that we might matter a little bit. Because death is permanent and they believe that scars fade- well let me tell you something. Scars may fade on our skin, but they never fade in our hearts. Once a paper is wrinkled it can never be the same again. I challenge you, make a paper heart. Normal white paper.
Now ask yourself these questions:
Have you ever been bullied?
Have you ever been sad?
Have you ever thought about suicide?
Have you ever thought life was a hole and you're going to die in there?
Have you ever had someone talk about you behind your back?
Has anyone ever dissed you?
Have you ever cried?
Has anyone ever rejected you?
Have you been ignored?
Have you ever felt like nobody would care if you died?
Have you ever felt you're just a joke?
Have you ever been told you're weird or uncool?
Have you been cyber bullied?
Have you been sexually harassed?
Have you been physically abused?
Has anyone emotionally abused you?
Have you been mentally abused?
Have you been neglected?
Has anyone you knew died/ is dying?
Has anyone important to you drifted away and you feel like you don't know them anymore?
Do you feel like if there was a second you weren't broken you'd jump for joy?
Has anyone lied to you?
Has anyone did the opposite of what you wanted?
Do you feel hated?
Do you feel so alone or so smothered that you can't even breathe or you don't think anyone would hear you if you screamed?
Have you ever hurt someone and felt bad about it?
Have you ever self-harmed?
Have you ever been told you're ugly, unattractive, or that people only like you for your looks?
Has anyone spread rumors about you?
Have you been falsely accused?
Do you feel like nobody notices you?
Do you feel like you can't ever get it right no matter how hard you try, and you've tried?
Have you ever attempted suicide?
Crumble the paper a little bit at every 'yes' you think in your head. Is your paper perfect? Can your paper ever be perfect again?
NO.
Maybe it's not about fixing what's broken anymore, because I know my paper heart's been ripped so many times, maybe it's about starting something new.
Well, I'm not a paper doll with a paper heart and a paper soul. I can't just go to the store a buy another one every time I rip it out of my chest to stop the pain.
Is how my heart feels after being ripped and crumbled so many times.
Tonight, I'll drink until I pass out and I'll run from the nightmares because there's nobody to fight them away for me.
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