They don't know.

They don't know how it feels
to be locked up inside
clostrophobic of your own body.

They don't know what it's like
to wake up and your only wish
is that you hadn't.

They don't know what it looks like
to have scars all over your skin
that remind you of what you've done.

They don't know how bad
how god damned bad
you wanted to die that night
how much you fought the urge
how hard it was
to pull your hand away
from splitting your veings.

They don't know what it's like 
to hate to be me.