I can't hear my cries,
as I can't range out,
anymore.
I stay in bed and die,
shivering and about,
what's this life for?
A wounded pigeon
will never ever fly,
Sometimes a mind,
cannot press unwind.
Hand me the remote,
it won't bring new emotes.
I can't bring myself to past,
and my conscious always last,
what is child abuse but a frame,
where so many wear the shame?
I bring myself to bottles
and a handful of gotten,
My pile of smarties,
Get me up and motivated.