The gun she holds to my temple 
As I go semi mental 
All over the floor 
And rage against a closed door 
Because I know how it feels 
And we’re just watching film reels 
Trying to find the cacophony 
And I’m tired of writing what they “did” to me 
Because half of it was my own fault 
And sometimes the best things are locked inside a vault 
Like some kind of treasure trove
They let me out of St. Pat’s to put turf in the stove 
To heat up the furnace 
Because the world is cold but too much and you will burn it 
It’s gotta be just so 
A balance only a few people know 
Like some kind of giant Tao 
The weight of worlds that I allow 
And they grabbed my arms and walked me to the bed 
When I could sense the demons in the men’s shed
I knew something was wrong 
And someday soon I would have to belong
Somewhere serene 
And if this is a dream 
Then why are we crying 
Is it because people are dying 
And we think it’s real 
Time and God have things to steal 
Away from you and I 
So I let everyone hear my cry 
And I do not edit and I do not filter 
It was the trauma that built her