The Picture

Crowded in a picture,
Painted black and white,
Never have I seen such,
A busy looking sight

I look for myself,
Dark hair, blue eyes
I look for myself,
But Im buried in lies

No way of escaping,
This fuked up place
No way of escaping
My heart full of lace

Lace from where its been stitched,
For the so many times Ive been hurt,
Lace because it needed to be fixed,
When everyday I felt like dirt

Hidden in the picture,
Drowned into the background,
Just another statistic,
Another person never to be found

Even when Im crying,
On the cold and lonely street,
Even when Im dying,
My heart stopping on that last beat

Im dying on the inside,
No ones fault but mine,
But then again my parents,
Tread on that single line.

The line that leaves me wondering,
If they actually do really care,
The line that is destroyed each time,
they give me that dark deep stare

The stare that tells me they hate me,
That they never wanted me alive,
The stare is so powerful,
Like a thousand burning knives

But back to the picture,
What else do I see?
I see a little girl,
Whos waiting to be set free

From her house,
Her family, her life,
From her problems,
That distresses her all night

The girl has a glimpse of a smile,
So distant though, like air,
You cant really see it,
But you know its somewhat there.

The reason for the smile,
Is because she loves her friends,
She loves them so much,
For her life she would send

Send to save them,
To guide them and care,
When shes an angel in heaven,
Theyll know shes always there.

The final piece of the picture,
That you can only just see,
Are the trails of faint scars,
From when shes tried to set herself free

Long crimson ribbons,
Painted along her arms,
Thick deep slashes,
From what they call 'self harm'

She doesnt understand,
How is it harm if she likes it?
If it makes her feel good,
Makes her feel safe,
Like theres always something there for her.

Why is it so bad,
If shes found a trusty friend?
One that she relys on,
Who her problems, he gladly mends.

She looks upon the painting,
For the very last time,
Just then it starts to rain, to pour
Dying, she mimes:

Tearing up the picture,
Throwing it into the ocean,
her memories now gone forever,
That was her final, last motion.