Tell me what I did.
Tell me what I sent to you.
My answer will be, my answer will always be: It wasn’t me!
I’m not the person who sent those things to you. Don’t think, be sure.
Do they know how much they’re hurting me?
I’m trying to forget that the little girl is used.
But they don’t let me try to forget.
They’re breaking my soul.
They’re forcing me. They let me fall.
I’m broken. Again.
They always break me. Why?
They don’t know what happened in my past.
They don’t know how it feels to be used.
They don’t know how it feels to be lost.
You could never forget the past with only hate.
There’ll always be something that remembers you to it.
I’m still not the person who I want to be.
Soon they’ll let me go.
Soon, they’ll stop calling my name.
Soon, it will all float away.
Soon…