It wasn't me.

 It's the small crimes,

Blood stains lit by the TV,

The chances never took,

And they hurt with everytime you think of those memories. 

The doctors waiting room,

The fear of how you will be preceived.

The truth too unsettling,

So stick to pg.

Just to undo,

And to pretend

And claim that isn't me.

The small crimes,

Masked with a smile.

It's been a long time

Since you were able to cry.

And the pills you take,

They dose up when you

Feel they no longer work,

300mg don't work,

Well try 330.

Its whole world,

As I sit and try to focus on the TV.

So much out there,

Sure see how I feel after

A nap or three.

Cause living isn't easy.

So trying to numb the unnecessary.

The small crimes,

As you think what you could of been.