I'm not a stranger. No, I am yours, with crippled anger and tears that still drip sore. A fragile frame aged with misery, and when our eyes meet I know you see I do not wanna be afraid. I do not wanna die inside just to breathe in. I'm tired of feeling so numb. Relief exists, I find it when I am cut. I may seem crazy, or painfully shy, but these scars wouldn't be so hidden if you would just look me in the eye. I feel alone here and cold here, I don't want to die, but the only anesthetic that makes me feel anything kills inside.
