How much blood is too much blood?
How much pain is too much pain?
How do we know when to stand,
Or when to break?
There is a boundry line,
A threshold tramped
Again and again
There is a breaking point.
Poisoned youth, recklessly wild,
There's no regard for who we are.
Throwing away the individual,
For the sake of the crowd.
When the day is done,
And the night's alone,
We're left with broken selves,
Innocence long disappeared.
The scars run long
And the scars run deep.
There's no such thing as
Too much blood, too much pain.
Disgusting and ugly,
Useless and wrecked,
It's no wonder
How we came to this.
We deserved all this blood;
All this pain.
We never had a chance to stand
We were always meant to break.
©The Last Letter