Pulled out some pieces of my fucking hair Tried screaming "help me" but nobody cares And I am not strong, I'm foul mouthed and fucking ignorant Two years later I'm not different Still made of pieces that will not fit, forever fucked and too dramatic I wear my heart upon my sleeve like I did when I still eighteen And goddamnit it gets the best of me One thing I've learned since coming to terms with moving on is No matter what I used to have: it's gone Pull out my fucking hair, I'll die alone and not care