Broken Record

Scars on her wrists They never to seem to fade This will be how it is the rest of her days A broken record, Still trying to force its self to play What kind of life is this A smile on her face But secrets hidden deep If they knew their opinions would change "She's crazy" "She's a freak" "Pathetic" "Stupid" All of those things they'd say They'd wrap around her throat like a rope Tugging and choking her life away She stays hidden. A record, broken but silent Still trying to force its self to play This will be how it is the rest of her days. Unless she speaks. How dare she speak? Uttering those words. To whom she speak? To the people? To the walls which upon she stares? No one. No one is there to listen. No one. No one is there to care.