I Feel Like I’ve Been Writing These Same Words All Year,
And The Years Before,
They All Begin The Same,
As Do They All End The Same,
They All Begin With A Young Girl Drowning In Sorrow,
Wishing That There Was No Tomorrow,
Wishing That She Could Disappear,
With A Pain That She Can’t Just Ignore,
A Girl Without A Name,
A Girl Without A Face,
It Always Ends With That Girl Taking Her Own Life,
One Would Ask Why,
One May Ask How,
How This Became,
Why She Finds Comfort In A Knife,
A Knife So Cold,
How Could She Take Her Own Life,
I May Ask Them How Could She Stay,
When There Is No Place,
She Has To Feel Safe,
I May Ask Them If They Could Live A Lie,
If You’ve Read All Of The Story’s I’ve Told,
You May Come To Wonder If There’s A Part That’s Untold,
I May Tell You There’s More Untold,
Then There Is Told,
And That’s How It Must Remain,
Until I Can Explain,
The Untold Part,
Why She Seems So Torn Apart.