You think I take it as a joke.
That I don’t care.
What you don’t realize is me crying,
behind closed doors,
in a room somewhere.
You think I can take it.
That I can avoid and deal with despair.
What you don’t realize,
is my self respect, broken beyond repair.
You think that I am happy.
Satisfied with my life.
What you don’t realize,
is me ready to take the knife.
Don’t think I don’t care,
just because I don’t cry.
Maybe the reason I don’t,
is because I believe you.
I show that I don’t,
I pray you don’t see,
That what you say,
It’s really killing me.