You don’t know my dreams, my hopes, my fears.
The way I take my coffee or the songs that drown my tears.
You don’t understand the way people have ****** me over or you wouldn’t have done the same.
You don’t realize how bad I need someone to vent to or the way I hate my name.
You don’t know the way my demons torture me and what I stay up all night thinking.
You don’t know my regrets or my favorite book or how to keep me from sinking.