Random Self-Quarrells and arguments.

Lying

As I lie there. Screaming. Crying. Dying maybe. I want nothing but for the ringing in my head to stop. The voices to leave. The shots to cease fire. The bullet wounds to be healed. Yet after all this, there are still scars. The scars have individual stories. Each only vivid and live when you see them. You freeze when you see them, yet not frozen enough to stay and help. While I am lying. To myself. To everyone. When I say I love you. I really mean for you to give up. You don't want lies. So Ill give it to you straight while I'm lying here on the barrel of my gun. I'm not wanted nor needed nor noticed. If I died away tell me who would care? No one. Not one small prayer. No love no tears will show. Only my blood on the floor, under my bed. So lying there with a hole in my head, tell me, how many tears at my funeral will be shed.?