AN: This is kinda about my mom; we dont get along well.

my minds its own insane asylum

and sanities the bars

keeping it all inside

there isn't an outlet for my rage and pain, except those lines down my wrist

my brains on fire

and all there is to drink is sand

and that just makes me cough

and all I want is to be left alone

I dont usually yell at myself

only when I deserve it

you seem to find reasons to hate me

is this supposed to make you love yourself?

researching ways to understand me

instead of

talking to me

maybe thats because I gave up talking to you a long time ago

and I guess talking to me,

is like talking to a wall

but theres a reason for that

and you're the reason bitch

stay away

keep out

i'm locking the doors of my asylum

and you'll never know the daughter you missed out on