Breath is hitching,
Lungs are burning,
Tears start streaming,
I’m sick of learning,
That I mean nothing,
In the eyes of lovers,
Bury my head,
Slump my shoulders,
Crawl away,
To a quiet place,
With broken hands,
My heart starts to race,
The blood starts to flow,
I strike out again,
Pain becomes my lover,
Until the end,
She is always there,
Never fails to impress,
Blood runs down my hand,
Like a crimson red dress,
I slow down and stop,
The knuckles are broke,
I fall down and cry,
My heart in my throat,
This is what happens,
To men who are good,
You find them battered and broken,
In the place they once stood.