Chipped nails, Flecks of gold Once open hearts, Now turned cold. Smudged lines, Lines of black Pointing to What we lack. Since what we have Isn't enough They tell us that We're out of luck. So, pen to paper Many write To try and hide, Hide from spite. No one reads Until we're gone, And few will wonder What went wrong. Silence will answer, Answer our cries As they continue To feed us lies.