Hang With The Circus Monkeys.
Wondering how much more I can take,
Wondering how you got so fucking fake.
Came home late one night you'd changed,
Pupils dilated, acting kind of strange.

Looked you in the eye as you staggered past,
And searched for a reason why you changed so fast.
Tried your hardest to cover the stains on your shirt,
And the bruise on your cheek that you swore didn't hurt.

You giggled, swayed, then hobbled up the stairs,
Took a look at your dirty shirt, too intoxicated to care.

These occasions became much more frequent,
I open the door to you the crumpled heap on the floor.
And when I carried you up to bed to be thanked with vomit,
I'd clean both of us up, wondering if I could take much more.

Then one night, I opened my door, to be greeted a young man.
I looked in his arms just as he dropped what he had.
He had dropped you into my arms and then ran.
I took you upstairs again, routine, in the morning I wont be thanked.

Tonight was different though because as I washed you,
And I got to your arms turning them over I saw puncture wounds.
Trailing all the way from your wrist to your elbow,
Dotted in irregular pattern showing you'd gone lower than I ever thought you'd go.

Not many people at the funeral, me and a few others,
The hollow cheeked and wasted junkies.
Stood in line with them felt almost degrading,
They weren't capable of caring, just a bunch of circus monkeys.

Live And Let Live.
Pass the scissors was screamed
Then they chopped at her hair.
Restoring her back to his former glory.
Or so they tried to declare.

Then thirstily grabbed a scalpel blade
And slowly taking it to her chest.
Sliced away at the surgically constructed flesh.
Hacking away at her breasts.

You see, this person was not as she seemed.
Wasn't normal as many see it.
But a social outcast for the mere fact she wanted to be something
And she allowed herself to be it.

But the bearers of the weapons,
And sharp cutting tongues,
Did not leave each to their own.
And the beatings carried on.

The thing is though,
This woman didn't scream.
She held her tears back
And attempted a last grasp for self esteem.

She may have been born a man,
But she was not male on the inside.
So why should she be alienated like this?
Why should she have to hide?

But these questions were not answered,
Not for her, not f or anyone.
But especially her because before they could be answered.
She was gone.