We see them every day, 

But never see them crying.

We claim to care about them, 

But underneath, are lying. 

 

We shun, we tease, we taunt them

As if death didn't matter.

We can't see what's underneath

Behind that cheerful chatter.

 

The smiles, the fronts, sleeves and cheer

Hide emotions we can't see.

The knives, guns, scars and tears

Form who they must really be.

 

How can we ask "How could they?"

When we really just don't care?

What gives us rights to blame them

For their own pain and despair?

 

Why do we turn around and

Try to hide from hurting hearts?

Why do we shut our eyes,

When we can help be a part?

 

So, what if you were like them?

What treatment would you expect?

If, instead, their pain was yours?

Now, what's the final effect?

 

So please try to understand 

This constant search for an end.

'Cause who knows, the hurting one,

In pain, might be your best friend.