Anly Stede

They scream in a way which
words couldn't explain,
gracing his existence in
some ways most couldn't get.

He thinks if they were aware, they'd drop
what of all they bestowed on him,
or maybe, in all reality, they wouldn't.

The story'd be so different, if they knew.

I was just a child at the time,
but I knew something was wrong,
without knowing that this particular
affliction was called bulimia.  Still, I just
knew, as I watched you gorge yourself
with the heaps of food you consumed,
that something was not the norm
about it all. I remember you being so
sad. My heart to this day still crumbles,
for I was only a child. I remember
every frame of that time, and I feel
beyond guilty for not knowing how
to make it better for you. I tried. And
I miserably failed. I wish I could've
Made some sort of difference in your life.

The spaghetti plate
Went flying across the room
And barely missed my head
'Cause you and mom were
Having another one of those
Moments, but in truth,
You were drunk out of your
Head again (as usual)

Mom may have pushed your
Buttons as she was good at
Doing, but does it excuse
The outcome of your violence
And your losing grip? I don't
Think so. I saw the plate
Coming right for my face from
The kitchen to the living room

Had I been facing the other way
That plate would have hit me
Luckily, I saw it coming and I
Could duck away from its trajectory
And then you went ahead and trashed
The whole apartment. Furniture
Overturned and broken and everything
In total disarray. For what?

'Cause you couldn't control yourself
As you never could do (and still today)
It's all about you, isn't it? It's always
About your feelings and your inabilities
To keep yourself in check. Your loss of
Control. But no one else knows about
Those times, do they? 'Cause you
Present yourself as this charming, great

Guy, when in all truth, you're a loser
In every sense of the word. But the
People around you today have no clue
About that side of you. If they did,
They'd probably have a whole different
View of who you happen to really be.
You know, that side of you that you hide,
'Cause you're too ashamed to admit to it.

You make your victims out to be
Something they are not, in the least.
I want nothing more to do with you
As you've made me suffer enough
In a silence that you've imposed
Through most of my existence.
I was quiet and didn't say anything,
But now I just can't anymore.

My feelings have everything to do
With your own behaviors.
The little girl who crammed it down
And didn't have the words to say
Has finally come to a point in her life
That she just can't accept it anymore.
She can't keep it all to herself,
She won't keep silent any longer.