Paint Our Blood Poem by Christopher's Dead

They're so very funny, what they think they're doing for me,
Just protection, degradation, but disrupting the peace.
And I wish that they knew, it's not discouragement, it's fuel,
For the flame of adolescence, sweetly it burns, so cruel.
How about they slip another down, they think I don't know,
Yeah I'm the one who's crazy, look around it's their war.
'Cause for once in my life, there's really nothing wrong.
Can't they see I'm happy, no they don't hear, it's gone.
But what pains me are all the times that they could not see,
Behind all the feigned smiles, I would sit there and bleed.

Well maybe we will paint our blood,
To match their necessity,
To be solemnly neurotic,
Invent our simplicity.
Maybe if we paint our blood,
We'd all be better off,
I'd think that when we would bleed,
They would care more about us.

Demonic the way it is, all the credit they give us,
Too stupid, blind, and jaded, my heart gives them disgust.
Symbiotic in our thoughts, to it black with no regrets,
Save me from myself, they pick this time instead.
They think that I don't know, well it goes deeper than you think,
'Cause a kid can't see in front of him, just take another drink,
It must have all the answers since their coming right from them,
Keep on preaching, my thoughts from which it stems:
I wonder why they know what's best, let's see their integrity,
You know that the last time I checked, they seemed so happy.

Take a second, just one, written on my tongue,
I've just said, just sin, please take it all in,
Slipping and weak, kiss me on the cheek,
Doth sayeth 'endure', systematic humor.

Holding it high, find it indecent,
Grieving tonight, find another reason,
Think back to a time, writhed suicidal season,
Holding love high, find ours indecent.