They're all like "if you're in a dark place it's okay, you can talk to us."
They're all like "It's going to be okay, are you okay?"
They're all like "Everything's okay, right?"
Unofficially depressed, no prescription, no diagnosis,
Just a blade, a diary and a listless mind,
A broken heart and a mask of manic laughter.
I'm sure you'd notice, if you cared enough to look,
At the two-and-a-half tiny razor-blade scars upon my wrist,
"Down the road; not across the street"
Just like the website told me to do it.
Please don't try to change me,
Don't tell me that there's someone doing worse.
Just let me die.