They all see her:
all dressed in black.
They never talk to her;
they’re too frightened she’ll attack.
They know what she’s done,
but, not why she has;
they think she’s desperate for attention.
She never asks.
They don’t know her dreams about the black parade.
They don’t know how much she wishes the scars could just fade;
how much she wishes the memories could go;
how much she wishes her personality could be her friend,
not her foe.
She had the same, the same old diary, but,
with a different show.
It had everything about her in it:
a place where the tears and demons could go;
a place where negative feelings could be projected and not rejected;
a place where she wasn’t drowning in tears;
a place where the words didn’t suffocate her, and
be the centre of her fears.
But this safe place,
this balance against hell,
was stolen by a book thief.
they sent her to this hell.
But, this girl, she’s nothing more than me:
a desperate teen.
Who wishes you could see.