You need a friend today, but it never happens after knowing your name. Before people say Good Day they ask how much you weigh, then they say your skin looks gray.
You put a lock on yourself, and try to throw the key so far away from all the demons, so called specialist grown-ups, commenting between the cups of coffee, putting you in cuffs.
You are the writer of a novel of pain, still no one understands That you feel ashamed because - You keep it to yourself. Keeping it to yourself.
You need a friend today, but it never happens after knowing your name. They say you have a distorted view on yourself, but how can the view be anything else but wrong, hearing the same old song.
You put a lock on yourself, and try to throw the key so far away, from all the demons and the grown ups, putting you in fucking cuffs.
