Sing-songed medieval tragedies.

I can be loud, can scream,
but I don't want to be the girl who cried wolf.
I can be loud, I'd scream,
if that didn't make me the girl who cried wolf.
I can be loud, just to be mean,
would you believe me if I cried wolf?

I should go back to sleep,
stop counting to protect the sheep,
maybe they'll be scared if I cry wolf.

No, you wouldn't believe if I cried wolf.
You cry witch, you cry killer,
you yell burn.

And I smell like roasted meat.
I smell like dead wolf.

nothing

Let me take you home, he says. I want to hurt you, he says.
              But he says an awful lot of things, with a smile
          plastered on his face like they're all true, and I can't tell,
                                   I can't tell the difference.
          And you'd say I've been lied to enough to be
        able to realise, for practice makes perfect,
                  but I learned from practice,
                              nothing is perfect.

they say "there's nothing to lose when nobody knows your name"

I measure time with the amount of things I accomplish,
   then normally, it feels like time never passes,
         like I'm never building the ship that's supposed to take me
             to the promised land, the land of joy,
                 where days are never the same.

of genetics and what it did to my brain-mouth conection

I rather shush, seem unfazed, because
sometimes I want to show you care,
but I end up being harsh instead

I rather stay here quiet, you'll say
that I never did much for you but I did
I avoid fighting with you
what else could you want?

and yet I can't control my mouth
at times like these, I hear a sound
and then I've spilled, so unaware,
all the secrets left unsaid

behind her back is exactly were Columbine hearing is at its best

Stay away from Columbine, they said. She's no good.
Vicious Columbine, they would whisper behind her back, day after day after day after day until it became all day long. Suddenly they were just faceless voices who plagued her every thought. Suddenly she can't sleep at night, she doesn't wanna wake at all.

Sadly, she thinks, the doctor says is not terminal and not curable.
The doctor also says is all in her head and she knows is in her head, she can hear it, you don't need a PhD to tell that. He says the only way to deal with this would be pills.

Here the funny thing about pills: they didn't solve Columbine's problems. The pills shushed the voices in her head, but they didn't make people any less mean.

beloved sister

All I wanted was to grow up
                              so I could grow old with you,
but instead we grew apart.
Maybe childhood is like a nightmare that takes
                  too many time too realize which kind of dream it is.
                                                                Or maybe it was me.
                   Perhaps I was wrenched and rotten and misguided and you didn't really thought
it would last, but it did.
            Abnormal children can still be adored, abnormal adolescents
                                                        should be hid in their bedrooms.
They must not disturb our fabricated peace.