mama, you make me dream of slitting my wrists. (mama, i'm scared, i think i'm turning into you). i have always loved the bursting intensity of the colour, red. besides, one of us should die so the other can survive. and since you were the one who breathed life into me, i guess it's me. except, i think that maybe, you've killed me far too many times. little by little, tugging away at the barely discernible threads so i fell and collasped into a pile of aching bones (what a mess, i'm always such a mess) without knowing when or how. and now there's nothing left but a vacant shell staring at me when i look into the mirror, with bloodshot eyes, puffy cheeks, swollen lips and a heart so heavy so empty i can hardly- get up so i can hit you, get up so i can hold you and hit you again, you owe me, go around spreading lies telling strangers things about me, you don't know only, all the things i went through, how tough my life is, you love me, you respect me, you appreciate me, where would you be without me you ungrateful slut only know how to fuck around, so young only you tell me what do you know about love huh what do you know, who do you think you are, got wings can fly already right- crawl past your impatiently tapping feet.