I want to die, words i mutter to often now,
I tried accept that i will always be blue,
But when i paint my blackened heart red ,
i know they can smell the imposter,
Yet they say nothing,

Every time the paint washes off people help repaint it
As if my heart will beat weakly till i die ,
but atleast then its not their fault
How could it be, they didn't spot the signs
But they did,

They painted over them till they would deny plausibility,
I don't blame them, they love me
Yet somehow when i mutter the hush of my pain,
All i get is laughs and ‘that is so real, i have double maths next’
i mutter truths you turn to jokes,

It's not their fault
They do not get it, its a trend
But one day i wont turn up to maths
And maybe then will they realise that maths
isn’t the worst thing that could happened to them