To the kid that no one sits with at lunch
To the kid that has no friends
To the kid that can't feel love
To the kid that forgot how to smile
To the kid whose parents say "why'd I have to have one like this?"

To the kid who has to inflict pain to know they're still alive
To the kid who's in an endless cycle of depression
To the kid who has funky colored hair
To the kid who has no hair
To the kid that gets battered and bruised for who they are

To the kid that yearns for attention they never get
To the kid that can't think straight
To the kid that isn't straight
To the kid that can't feel what life should be

Depression. That's all you feel
You can no longer tell what's fake and what's real
And the voices in your head-the real you is what they conceal
They tell you to pick up that knife
That's what'll make it better
So you bleed and you scream
and you plead and you try to deem
What's right and what's wrong
But in the end, is anything really....right?

Put down the knife and think back....
You're here for a reason
And no matter what that reason may be, you serve a purpose
If you think long enough, that image might start to surface
You're here for a reason...

They say the pen is mightier than the sword
If this is true then God was the sword and you were a pen
And I was the pencil who laid you a foundation of erased mistakes only for you to trace upon them as if they didn't exist.
And I was cast in the bottom of some cluttered bag
while you were gently capped and placed in a box lined with blue silk,
And you knew I would always be there to test the waters before you spilled the pages with your brash delicacy.
But you needed me and I craved you for completion.
Together we created sweeping illustrations and lengthy novels with dozens of sequels.
We depicted a tale of modern love in our ball-pointed journey.
But my graphite stayed intact while your ink started to run out.
I could see as our pages unfolded that your colors no longer spread as boldly.
You became more and more invisible as I desperately etched harder and harder into every page hoping to give you clearer guidelines
but you no longer had it in you.
And soon enough we couldn't make anything beautiful.
You had run out.
And I'm still hopelessly drawing maps desperate that you can regain what you once had and use the indentations on previously blank pages to find your way back to me.