when people give up on only thinking of them selfs
when people give a shit about the person next to them
when life is regarded as something other the expendable
we write a story with every move we make every cut we take and all the hearts we break
when u fell nothing u fein for life, but what is life other then we live then we die
cuts on my arm or love on my arms. ha
i write books on my arm tell me who or what can save me
love is fake imaginary made up by imperfect beings with selfish intentions
u say hopeless.. i say we are dead
and nothing will help us, nobody cares and nobody can chang the hell we have made for ourselves