Twenty four years of being told
        You're not good enough
                That you're nothing
And to disappear
            wouldn't hurt a soul
      Not one would miss the girl
   Who spends her days
         feeding crows in the cemetery
Asking them
     why no one loves her
As she counts the deaths she sees
      One by one they keep coming
   Souls of friendships,
       once a lovely melody in her ear
Now, nothing but a faint whisper that says

"I would say goodbye, but you were never even here."