Your friends might not be the people that you thought they were.
I learned a long time ago,
That if you think the white spaces below us,
The parts of us that can't be fixed,
Can be filled; can be placed in a line
That wraps around the doctor.
But we can never make it to the front
Because the people that cut in front
Are the people we call friends.
And they tell us that we're special
But the words are filled to the top already.
But once we make it to the front
We just want our mended hearts cared for;
And they send us on our way wearing a cast
That is plastered with the words;
The ones who have been overflowing,
allowing the glass that holds them to break.
The shards are there for us to cut our cast in two
and to have our bones broken once again.
We soak up the rest
Not telling anyone, but letting it flow back
Once we get home.