I'm a stranger in my own head.

My thoughts are all too foreign.

How am I supposed to explain myself?

How am I supposed to feel?

It's like my life has been hung up on a shelf.

It doesn't feel real.

I'm staring at it from above, and I all is see is one big, huge nightmare.

Every detail is sad, every detail is bland.

This tree is dead and bare.

Isn't there a way it can come alive again?

The leaves are withered and people try not to stare.

They're too prideful to pretend like they actually care.

Why do they set up funerals and shed tears for the dead?

Those fake lines of "I miss her" and "she should've known how much I cared" prove the reason why she even dared.

That's why she did it, that's why she took her life.

She wanted to show society what she thought about its fucked up strife.

Hateful people everywhere, and awful judgmental stares.

I guess she thought that someone would finally get the picture.

That someone might actually care.

She didn't know that it would all pass over soon, that they would soon take her life in vain.

The hate still carries on and it's all in her name.