He won't say he knows
what it's like to  
shudder in horror at
himself.

He won't say he understands
the frozen fear and inability to
control his own mind,
the unbidden beliefs that don't go away.

He won't say that voice
in his head, isn't very little
and he can't help but argue
against himself, who isn't really him.

He won't say that it's not
alright when the evening is dying in
splendid shades of soft autumn
and he's unable to see it.

He won't say he gets what it's
like to be frozen in the corner of the room
huddled in ball of silently screaming limbs,
eyes closed because it takes too much strength to open them.

He won't tell his friends when the
noise is yelling and freaking out
over a grade that has become his world
and it's stressful enough without them saying it doesn't matter.

He won't say
wouldn't it be nice...
to be happy?
Yeah, that would be.

He won't tell his friends
in blazing daylight that seems to single him out
that he wishes it would stop.
Please, make it stop.

He won't tell them
anything at all.