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The Collection

Four bedroom wall
Dusty dark room
Thinking about life and how everything will turn out



Fingers trace the scars
Hands run through my hair
Im screaming inside and out for somebody to hear



Can anybody hear me scream for help?
Will anybody help 



Hands of men who changed me
Hands of the abuse that changed me
Hands of Creator touches me, guides me protects me



Im laying on the floor with my hands wide open
Asking for Creator to help me.

My sister and I fight

CAS separates us

She gets adopted I get passed around like a ball

 

 

 

Voices start at the age of 12

They tell me not kind things

They scream at me for making mistakes

 

 

 

The voices tell me I wont make it out alive

The voices are homicidal knowing i will never go through with a plan like that

 

 

 

There out to get you, you need to run

There going to hurt you, you need to leave

They tell me to kill myself

Mother drinks her pain away 
Father drinks his anger away



Deadbeat dad works 24/7 and only cares about his money 
Mother doesn't make any money but uses father



When you turned 16 thats when your deadbeat father tried being a dad
When you turned 18 that's when your mother finally went to rehab



Parents are supposed to help you grow,
Parents are supposed to help you learn,
Parents are supposed to help you love, 
Parents are supposed to help you understand, 
Parents are supposed to help you live life.

...

Reality bends a mirror cracked, dreams fall silent, light pulled back. Shadows weigh where hope once stayed, each breath a debt that won't be paid. The morning hums feels untrue, a painted sky, a hollow blue, the world keeps spinning, blind, unkind, While storms keep raging in the mind. Smiles are stitched on broken skin, a fragile mask that holds within. Reality whispers, sharp and cold, a story written but never told. Yet in the dark, a flicker stays, a fragile plea for softer days.

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