To everyone we are the clothes we wear,
The ****** expressions we show.
We are who we hang out with.
People will judge you from the surface
They don't care to know what's inside,
As long as it shows,
It's who you are.

They don't bother to ask who you are, inside
They don't bother to know your story
To them,
You're the happy, weird girl, the "good-one", the innocent.
To your walls,
You're the girl who cried herself to sleep every night,
The girl who hurts herself and the innocent objects around her
You are the depressed, unlovable reject.

The walls are the only ones who really know who you are
They're the only ones that really witnessed the horrific scenes at night
They're the only ones that know your late night secrets
They're the only ones there for you on those sleepless nights.

No one knows what you wear on your skin
They see your clothes, and don't care to undress you, and figure you out
They don't know that, on your skin, you carry seeping alcohol, scars, pain, smoke

They don't know your skin.