Living Crimson

You can't help me now,
Even if you wanted to,
You wouldn't know how.

Slowly I cry these crimson tears
Slowly I regret having these fears.

I dress my face in make-up
Now running down these cheeks.
No one cares to ask why
So don't expect me to speak.

Disaster is my middle name
Everything I touch crumbles before me.
This is the sickest game
And I can't find a way out,
I can't see.

One wonderful, amazing thing happens one day
And I'm happy and finally o.k.
The next it's torn from my hands
And suddenly no one will ever understand.

I sit here alone with no one to save me tonight
I cry and cry,
I can't put up with this fight.

You'll never know what happened last night
You'll never know
And I'll never tell.
All I know is that I'm

NOT

Alright.
And for all the reasons in the world
This is my

[Hell]

Reviews

[Chelsea]

I like this. It doesn't have the tone of a pity-seeker, but it demonstrates the low, terrible feeling that the narrator feels. I think you could even expand on this more and flesh it out a bit more. Just a thought...

[Chiquita]

The mystery left in this keeps the reader engaged. I am left wanting to know more. What happened last night? Why will you not tell?