---Memories consume
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again----
I'm here in the dark confines of my room again. I'm always here. Alone. No mail, no friends, no owl, not even food. I'm drawn back to what I was before I was 11; small, insecure, lonely, and not a wizard. It seems, that I'm not even that nowadays.
I don't look like a wizard. Mind you, what exactly is the protocol for a Wizard to look like? What exactly is it that causes people to recognize us? We're not so different than muggles in looks, or acts, even though we happen to use different means of going about things. Why do we get treated differently, then?
I'm at my mirror again, staring into the reflection of a teenager that belongs in the wizarding world. If only my mind belonged there. Sometimes I think that there's been a spell cast on the mirror, showing me a completely different person that what I am. In this reflection, I see a 17 year old boy with messy black hair, dark green eyes, and a smile that lights up his face. I don't think I'm smiling. No, it's not a smile, it's a tight line, uncertain of what it wants to do- sneer, or be mocked.
No, that boy's not me.
That's not the boy who once used a razor to carve the word 'death' into his arm. The physical scars from that are gone, but the mental ones remain, close by in case of a need for reminder. No... that's not me. That's not the boy who was thrown down the stairs by Uncle Vernon in a rage and had his broken arm tended poorly to. No.
I'm back on the bed, waiting for the day to come- the day where I can be free of this prison. I'm free to leave the house, but not without penalty. The last time, it was to be locked in the cupboard under the stairs for 2 days. What will it be this time? No food? It wouldn't be the first time. No letters or anything? It's been done.
I'm still unsure on whether I want out of here.
----------------------------------------
----I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused----
I'm still here, on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I can hear the Dursley duet in the other rooms, snoring to their hearts content, while I'm staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep. In fact, I haven't slept in months.
Every time I close my eyes I see things; things that happened months ago, but still I see them. And with my eyes, I see everything as though I was back there, back on the Hogwarts school grounds, and fighting with Voldemort.
My dreams are always the same, starting off with Dumbledore, and moving onto the death scene. They're always like that; always completing the same distinct cycle. They never change, and they never fail to haunt me.
I refused to take part in the war. I was tired of fighting; tired of lying that nothing was wrong; tired of having to get into trouble to avoid people, or to take private lessons. It was too much.
Each time I close my eyes, I'm taken right back to the day I declared my weakness by declining participation in the battle that approached. I can feel the passion of my words, loosely being tossed at Dumbledore; ignoring the astonished looks. I told him that day, that I would not be part of the slaughter of people. Too many had I killed. And now, to top it all off, I'd killed the one person who actually cared the most. Dumbledore.
I can still remember feeling the loss. All he'd ever tried to do was help me, and the last thing I'd said to him was that he was a grumpy old man who wanted to use me. But I was wrong.
-------------------------------------------
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm
Breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight----
I told him to leave me be. I called him names, and left him to his guilt. And in the end, that was the last thing he'd ever heard uttered from my lips. The next time I saw him, I was staring at his cold and empty body, pale and almost translucent to the eye. I killed him.
And not only did I kill hundreds of people, but it was all without reason. They didn't have to die. All I had to do was give myself up, and none would have perished. But I was too selfish. I was too stubborn to realize what I had to do. I was too greedy to save myself.
I'd been chosen since the very beginning, and I refused to accept it. I could still see the sinister sneer on Voldemort's face as he cast a curse and watched the old man die. And as I leaned over the dead old man, I didn't even watch Snape stand over me and protect me. He defeated Voldemort, not I. And yet, I'm the one who's claimed to be a hero. A hero! What good is being a hero when you know it's not true? What good is being a hero who's weak or selfish or self-centered?
-------------------------------------------
----Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again----
I'm still here, in this tiny room, with an exception. I hold Dudley's hunters pistol within my hands. He doesn't know I have it. In fact, I bet he's forgotten about it. He's only ever used it once, and that was on hunting trip with Uncle Vernon. I'd been left under the stairs that week.
It's still loaded. I can feel the power it has over me. I could easily kill myself right now. It would probably be a miracle to uncle Vernon. Besides, who would miss me? Ron didn't seem to want to talk, and Hermione seemed too preoccupied with studies now to bother with him. Who was there to talk to?
Somewhere in my mind I can hear Severus Snape laughing at my death, saying 'Good Riddance!'. It's odd to hear him laugh.
I can still feel the gun in my hands.
----------------------------------
----I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused----
The gun's gone. Vernon's locked it somewhere in the house while I'm stuck in the cupboard again. Typical. Petunia has the worst timing in anyone I know. She came across me while I was holding it.
I hate the confines of this small room. I'm left alone to my thoughts, and I'd rather be anywhere but here. My thoughts are my problems, not the gun. The gun was a solution.
I killed too many people. It's my fault that people died. Mom, Dad, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Cedric... they're all dead because of me. Even Hedwig's gone. Anyone close to me is gone- even those who aren't.
I want out of this place. My thoughts are dangerous.
----------------------------------------
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm
Breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight----
I'm out of the cupboard. I'm now a captive in my room again, this time kept on close watch by frequent visits to my cell. I can only stare at the ceiling and wait. It's only a few more weeks. As soon as it comes, I can leave this place, and find some help. My eighteenth birthday. Freedom day. I can finally touch my parent's dowry and live on my own.
I should have grabbed more when I was there each time. They only gave it to me for school purposes. But, after graduating Hogwarts, what good was school supplies? No, I'm still here for a few more weeks. I can survive that. I hope.
----------------------------------------------
----I'll paint it on the walls
'cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends----
No more attempts on my life. It's been almost a year since I left the Dursleys, and not once, have I made an attempt on my life. I've been traveling, moving away from settling down and risking a routine only to be broken by an old enemy or problem. I can move on.
There's been no more wars, and that thought alone saves me from any hopeful gazes. People don't ask me for my autograph anymore, or ask me how I did it. I prefer it that way. They never listen anyways. You can tell them that it wasn't you until you're blue in the face, and they still won't hear you. Not a one.
I am free. I am alive. I am content. Am I happy? That is still to be determined. No one will ever know of what I went through, how I dealt with my pain. No one will ever care. But I will survive, that is a vow I make to myself. I will survive if only to summon the courage to thank the people who were there for me, when I couldn't help but be the temperamental teenager I've grown into. I want to thank them, but I know I'm too weak.
I still can't sleep.
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight ----
Like opening the wound
I'm picking me apart again
You all assume
I'm safe here in my room
Unless I try to start again----
I'm here in the dark confines of my room again. I'm always here. Alone. No mail, no friends, no owl, not even food. I'm drawn back to what I was before I was 11; small, insecure, lonely, and not a wizard. It seems, that I'm not even that nowadays.
I don't look like a wizard. Mind you, what exactly is the protocol for a Wizard to look like? What exactly is it that causes people to recognize us? We're not so different than muggles in looks, or acts, even though we happen to use different means of going about things. Why do we get treated differently, then?
I'm at my mirror again, staring into the reflection of a teenager that belongs in the wizarding world. If only my mind belonged there. Sometimes I think that there's been a spell cast on the mirror, showing me a completely different person that what I am. In this reflection, I see a 17 year old boy with messy black hair, dark green eyes, and a smile that lights up his face. I don't think I'm smiling. No, it's not a smile, it's a tight line, uncertain of what it wants to do- sneer, or be mocked.
No, that boy's not me.
That's not the boy who once used a razor to carve the word 'death' into his arm. The physical scars from that are gone, but the mental ones remain, close by in case of a need for reminder. No... that's not me. That's not the boy who was thrown down the stairs by Uncle Vernon in a rage and had his broken arm tended poorly to. No.
I'm back on the bed, waiting for the day to come- the day where I can be free of this prison. I'm free to leave the house, but not without penalty. The last time, it was to be locked in the cupboard under the stairs for 2 days. What will it be this time? No food? It wouldn't be the first time. No letters or anything? It's been done.
I'm still unsure on whether I want out of here.
----------------------------------------
----I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused----
I'm still here, on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I can hear the Dursley duet in the other rooms, snoring to their hearts content, while I'm staring at the ceiling. I can't sleep. In fact, I haven't slept in months.
Every time I close my eyes I see things; things that happened months ago, but still I see them. And with my eyes, I see everything as though I was back there, back on the Hogwarts school grounds, and fighting with Voldemort.
My dreams are always the same, starting off with Dumbledore, and moving onto the death scene. They're always like that; always completing the same distinct cycle. They never change, and they never fail to haunt me.
I refused to take part in the war. I was tired of fighting; tired of lying that nothing was wrong; tired of having to get into trouble to avoid people, or to take private lessons. It was too much.
Each time I close my eyes, I'm taken right back to the day I declared my weakness by declining participation in the battle that approached. I can feel the passion of my words, loosely being tossed at Dumbledore; ignoring the astonished looks. I told him that day, that I would not be part of the slaughter of people. Too many had I killed. And now, to top it all off, I'd killed the one person who actually cared the most. Dumbledore.
I can still remember feeling the loss. All he'd ever tried to do was help me, and the last thing I'd said to him was that he was a grumpy old man who wanted to use me. But I was wrong.
-------------------------------------------
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm
Breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight----
I told him to leave me be. I called him names, and left him to his guilt. And in the end, that was the last thing he'd ever heard uttered from my lips. The next time I saw him, I was staring at his cold and empty body, pale and almost translucent to the eye. I killed him.
And not only did I kill hundreds of people, but it was all without reason. They didn't have to die. All I had to do was give myself up, and none would have perished. But I was too selfish. I was too stubborn to realize what I had to do. I was too greedy to save myself.
I'd been chosen since the very beginning, and I refused to accept it. I could still see the sinister sneer on Voldemort's face as he cast a curse and watched the old man die. And as I leaned over the dead old man, I didn't even watch Snape stand over me and protect me. He defeated Voldemort, not I. And yet, I'm the one who's claimed to be a hero. A hero! What good is being a hero when you know it's not true? What good is being a hero who's weak or selfish or self-centered?
-------------------------------------------
----Clutching my cure
I tightly lock the door
I try to catch my breath again
I hurt much more
Than anytime before
I had no options left again----
I'm still here, in this tiny room, with an exception. I hold Dudley's hunters pistol within my hands. He doesn't know I have it. In fact, I bet he's forgotten about it. He's only ever used it once, and that was on hunting trip with Uncle Vernon. I'd been left under the stairs that week.
It's still loaded. I can feel the power it has over me. I could easily kill myself right now. It would probably be a miracle to uncle Vernon. Besides, who would miss me? Ron didn't seem to want to talk, and Hermione seemed too preoccupied with studies now to bother with him. Who was there to talk to?
Somewhere in my mind I can hear Severus Snape laughing at my death, saying 'Good Riddance!'. It's odd to hear him laugh.
I can still feel the gun in my hands.
----------------------------------
----I don't want to be the one
The battles always choose
'cause inside I realize
That I'm the one confused----
The gun's gone. Vernon's locked it somewhere in the house while I'm stuck in the cupboard again. Typical. Petunia has the worst timing in anyone I know. She came across me while I was holding it.
I hate the confines of this small room. I'm left alone to my thoughts, and I'd rather be anywhere but here. My thoughts are my problems, not the gun. The gun was a solution.
I killed too many people. It's my fault that people died. Mom, Dad, Sirius, Remus, Dumbledore, Cedric... they're all dead because of me. Even Hedwig's gone. Anyone close to me is gone- even those who aren't.
I want out of this place. My thoughts are dangerous.
----------------------------------------
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm
Breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight----
I'm out of the cupboard. I'm now a captive in my room again, this time kept on close watch by frequent visits to my cell. I can only stare at the ceiling and wait. It's only a few more weeks. As soon as it comes, I can leave this place, and find some help. My eighteenth birthday. Freedom day. I can finally touch my parent's dowry and live on my own.
I should have grabbed more when I was there each time. They only gave it to me for school purposes. But, after graduating Hogwarts, what good was school supplies? No, I'm still here for a few more weeks. I can survive that. I hope.
----------------------------------------------
----I'll paint it on the walls
'cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends----
No more attempts on my life. It's been almost a year since I left the Dursleys, and not once, have I made an attempt on my life. I've been traveling, moving away from settling down and risking a routine only to be broken by an old enemy or problem. I can move on.
There's been no more wars, and that thought alone saves me from any hopeful gazes. People don't ask me for my autograph anymore, or ask me how I did it. I prefer it that way. They never listen anyways. You can tell them that it wasn't you until you're blue in the face, and they still won't hear you. Not a one.
I am free. I am alive. I am content. Am I happy? That is still to be determined. No one will ever know of what I went through, how I dealt with my pain. No one will ever care. But I will survive, that is a vow I make to myself. I will survive if only to summon the courage to thank the people who were there for me, when I couldn't help but be the temperamental teenager I've grown into. I want to thank them, but I know I'm too weak.
I still can't sleep.
----I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
But now I have some clarity
To show you what I mean
I don't know how I got this way
I'll never be alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight ----