What is...?

Hands ticking on clocks
Breathing filling silence and the door locks
with the veins on your hands
Drawing out of broken glass
Harbored by misguidance
Locks cast down in strands
covering painted eyelids, drenched in sorrow
Pumping the pain to the rest of the body
And lonely...lonely
Hating the air that sustains others
Broken glass sliding bothers
Losing the feeling of feeling
Eyes stuck to the ceiling
Wincing in pain for what they want
What the world wants
"too much from me, they all want too much"
Clutching the closest thing
The heart lets it out and she begins to cry
Screaming for fairness, fuck all the lies
and pain that comes from a touch
a kiss, a feeling of safeness
where in the end all we feel
seems wasted and like it will never come back
and all the faces, that look towards
"I don't wanna talk about the wounds"
or the pains that feel like swords
Stabbing every inch of her being
Till the crying strains her vocal chords
You see, this is where her anger goes
fighting what surrounds her
and the power of love and hate
still confounds her and what is true?
what is I love you?