How much blood is too much blood?

How much pain is too much pain?

How do we know when to stand,

Or when to break?

There is a boundry line,

A threshold tramped

Again and again

There is a breaking point.

Poisoned youth, recklessly wild,

There's no regard for who we are.

Throwing away the individual,

For the sake of the crowd.

When the day is done,

And the night's alone,

We're left with broken selves,

Innocence long disappeared.

The scars run long

And the scars run deep.

There's no such thing as

Too much blood, too much pain.

Disgusting and ugly,

Useless and wrecked,

It's no wonder

How we came to this.

We deserved all this blood;

All this pain.

We never had a chance to stand

We were always meant to break.

┬ęThe Last Letter