What a birthday is, 

Is another year you have lived in this game, for reasons that you or I can only pretend to fully comprehend.

What a birthday is,

Is for you to realize that the few friends who you have, would most likely be different to some extent if you had not met them.

Even if you are not convinced of this inference

And yet despite of this, you act as if you have no one who would lend a comforting hand

To you when you feel alone, 

For we, who are "those" and the ones you do not know

Acknowledge the fact we may never know the extents of your worn, broken soul.

And yet, even though we may not know

We try to mend the broken, the damned

For some may see pieces of themselves condemned to confined in your single man

In hopes when you grow tired of the toll your mind brings, you will realize the hand 

Outstretched to you, is not completely unbroken.

That we too have faced some of the abuse brought on to you

By no one new,

No father or mother

No friend or fiend

But the only thing the mirror shows, us who are also rotting.

Perhaps not as badly, yet still we have similarities 

So believe us when we say, that even if you are the one who is at fault

You are not be blamed for life is simply a cruel,

Twisted,

Malicious game we are forced to play.

That the presents given to you today, are simply a way to say

Congratulations you have survived another day.