Alone.

Always I am alone.

No one to turn to and nowhere to run,

it isn't on purpose and it isn't fun.

I try to stand up,

I try to speak out,

but always I am told that without a doubt,

I'm faking,

I'm fine,

it's just these hormones of mine.

It couldn't be real,

it couldn't be true,

but what if these things were happening to you?

I say depression,

you say obsession,

obsession with the attention I seek.

You say it will wear off in time,

but if it was you,

you would spend every dime,

all of your pennies,

every nickle,

just to get out of this pickle.

No one believes,

but this feeling never leaves.

Just think for a moment,

think on it hard,

what if it was you who was barred,

from those wonderful moments,

those times in your life.

Those times without stress or strife.

What if you were the one,

who was coming undone.

The one that no one believed,

the one who was concieved,

as a faker,

a lier,

an attention seeker,

When truthfully,

you couldn't be meeker.

So you hold it inside,

you hold it all in,

praying for someone,

to see the pain you were in.

You don't let it show,

you don't say a word,

haven't you heard?

They think you're crazy,

didn't you know?