Let me tell you before we start.
I'm not an artist, who paints the words of their life.
I’m not a professional writer, who makes everything look so complicated but so easy.
I’m just a girl with a story.
Here are my thoughts of what I could do.
Explain my life to total stranger,
But then all I could think of is why they would care,
Tell you about the big thrilling events, that make no sense,
Because they were formed in my mind,
So those, so called memories could be called mine.
Tears that fall down,
That is released from my mind,
Hurt me more than the blood that stream down,
From my wrists to the wooden floor.
The look on my families face
Brings me hell, but shows me the truth of what I’m capable of.
I’ve seen my mother cry,
My dad in the hospital bed,
Laying there unconscious and almost dead.
Hearing the thoughts,
It’s my fault,
And in the end we know that’s the truth.
My families apart,
Because of my mistakes,
My life’s story written in a book is now gone,
But the back of my plane ticket
Is enough space to write it all?
A new life’s begun
Just waiting to fall.