Sometimes I think of
killing myself,
but
then again,
what would
it help?
Would I be any happier
if I knew
the chance
is gone,
For this
to change?
All situations
stay the same.
It will
never change,
So maybe
I'm alive.
It's not too late
to go
on home,
And pray for
better days
alone.
Riding frustrations
through
the pain
of having
nobody
to blame,
But yourself,
your cheap reflection,
no one else
Your broken self
devided,
Who will tell?
Don't leave your silence
here with me,
it's not safe here.
I might take it away with
my guitar
or gun.
I can't promise anything
but
I'll try to.
It's the time
of year
May B.