It seems like I have no one to talk to,
No one to vent to,
And no one to cry to.
Yet I am the one whom everyone talks to,
Everyone vents to,
And everyone cries to.

I always follow everyone.
Even to the corners of Hell.
But when I get in trouble.
All I get is their voicemail.

It's hard to carry a cross
along with everyone's issues.
My eyes are teary as well,
but I wipe their tears away with my tissues

Now, I feel used.
And who can take the blame?
It's my fault I am being abused.
I've opened the door to this pain.

But even though I ache,
I'll still follow these people through Hell.
Even if my tears remain,
Along with this lonely voicemail.