I can see past their hollow reassurances.
I know that they have sympathy but nothing beyond that.

Just a quick glance my way with those pitty full eyes that speak,
"You poor soul. I wish I could help you. I wish you the best in your journeys."
But they will never actually help me.
...

Standing in the middle of the street.
A bus screeches to a halt.
It stops inches away from me.
The driver looks at me with those same eyes,
But he does not go out to help me.
No one does, he just drives around me.
Some people stare at me with pity, others judgement,
But none will help me.
That's the tragedy of living,

You have to learn to pick yourself up because no one else will.