Most kids that I know have never had to read a note,
never had to absorb emotions outside of texting emotes.
They've never had to read the musings of a sick design,
never had to read some kid's last lines.

All those pent-up feelings held in a rope,
caught up around your neck, make you cough and choke.
Walk and breathe everyday, life constantly desupplying,
no one could help but think of dying.
Because when pain is your friend and he's the only thing that feels real,
you spend time with him, invite him into your house for meals.
He becomes this constantly hovering sort of tenant,
sucking out the life, making you want to end it.

And please, will some of you just leave and only talk to me
when you've gone, and come back with an emotional lobotomy.
Because I can't stand this ignorance from someone
who's always had their parents to help 'em.

Because it's that kind of support that can keep someone going,
keep someone from keeping the blood flowing.
An ear to hear and a mind to hold in it all
can be a mental crutch to keep one from a fall.
A fall through the dark and the damp and the bloody,
trying to paint a picture of yourself that you don't find ugly.
Because all the god damn convincing in the world
can't dispel the damned words of those girls.

The sand of the grainy lies that they spoke
slip through fingers of stability, evoke
feelings of the kind shoved under your bed.
Better dusty there than alive in your head.