I want to succeed.
I really do.
I want to become a surgeon,
And help people get out of their blood drawing rules.

Something is stopping me though.
Something I can't quite explain.
You see there's these strings tied in knots all over my veins.
They refrain me from feeling emotion.
They hurt me and pull when I try to do something in motion.

I am tied by these putrid strings,
Tied by the negligence of a once loving parent.
Pulled tighter by the mind that holds my own morbid thoughts.
I am tied to a string of moths.
Each problem lighting a flame.
Attracting these bugs into my brain.

No longer a little girl,
But now a scared teen.
What will happen next?
Will my attempts tie these seams?
These seams of failure,
Comparison to the next.
Failing is a disease we all lay next to wishing to fret.

I am devoid of emotion,
Feeling of human contact.
I crave skin to rub on mine.
Flesh to dig in,
Please, feel every bone sticking out my spine.
Let it sink in your skin within.

These strings don't allow these feelings to awake.
Only allowing my mind to make them up.
That's all I get,
Just a mere sense of life.
A tiny pluck.

These strings don't allow me to live.
So, I live in my brain.
Playing imagination in my head all day.
And I will try to ignore the failure that seeps its way and pins.
Tying itself to my veins,
And sewing itself in.