Young Writers Society

They are wrong when they think he’s far
They are wrong when they think he’s scary
A creep, an acrimonious jerk
But I fucking smile when I see him
I even laugh at his jokes

I can’t refer to him as an asshole
I even find him friendly
But at night his memory comes to me
Of how he robbed my innocence
Of how he bruised and burned my baby skin

Chorus: They say you should have scars
Should be this wrist cutting Emo-kid
They say; you’ll go crying to your mama
They say it hurts, dramatically
I wish they were right
I wish I’d feel, maybe then it wouldn’t kill

If it was really horrible you’ll remember
But my fucking puzzle pieces don’t fit
The nightmares are useless
It’s this riot of unarranged flashes
I even shed tears for the bastard

He probably thinks he got off
But kids remember, Kids don’t forget
You stupid nefarious bastard
You made me vulnerable
I want answers, fucking answers

Repeat chorus

They’ll say I don’t know sorrow
I’m just bubbly, hyper, your happy gal
They will never understand
Never really know, never really
That it doesn’t hurt, it kills

I even wish I was slightly psychotic
Wished I was chronically depressed
So it’d be easier, to feel
To live, and stop pretending
And have wounds that actually bleed
Repeat chorus

I wish, he’d do me know
At least my short term memory works
Do me now, you fucking coward
What? 18 too old for ya?
I’m not stupid I know

The answers are in your eyes…