The life of an emo...
Can anyone other than one of us understand our pain?
Our need of secrecy?
it's all we have left
beside the cold blade on our skin.
We feel it cannot become any worse
but, by assuming so we have only worsened it.
If we let our secrecy slip,
allowing that last little bit of sanity to slip away...
Looks at you like you're insane,
not right somehow.
the only thing wrong with most of us,
is our mangled hearts.
But if it's in the dark...
They stare at you and whisper about you...
As if you weren't even there
like you couldn't tell
as you feel their eyes burning into you,
that their whispers were centered
All we have
is the cold blade on our skin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem