The friend who stood by.

Don't accuse me, of something you don't know anything about.
You say it's dramatics, and never help me out.
You pretend it's not real, or blow if off like another event,
I guess the fake smile, and tears in my eyes aren't enough of a hint.

If you think I'm proud, or mature because I'm like this,
then were better off with a goodbye, a hug and a kiss.
Why can't you just help me, is it so much to ask?
I never meant to be like this, but I can't forget my past.

Every night it's the same story, I cry myself to sleep.
Holding on to the pain on my body, where the scars are there I keep.
I told you, not to see me as pathetic and how I didn't want your sympathy,
but hoping one day, you could help me.

Now every poem thats wrote by all these "pathetic" people you say,
are always about cutting themselves, and about how they will die today.
Well maybe were sad, and we can't have something perfect like you,
maybe you can't possibly know what we are going through.

You were suppose to be my best friend, and you knew about my problems,
and yet you stood by, did nothing to try and solve them.
You'll see one day, and maybe then you'll care,
but I'll be gone, and my pain will be yours, more you can bare.