Do they know the reason why?

They'll never ask anyway.

And if they do,

My breath would go to waste.

People can write tales

And others won't read them

But boy, do they have tons to say.

Oh, I especially hate

When they say they know

Why you do what you do

And just who you are.

"You're lazy"

Because I'm depressed?

"You're fat"

Because I like to eat?

"You're ugly"

Because I'm not the typical "beauty"?

They seem to know me more

Than I know myself.

So I'm what they say now.

These comments don't end

But neither does my life.

And people say that the pain ends

But is it worth the strife?

In my mind I hear voices

They are all my dark thoughts

But I also hear the voices

That are breathing and alive.

Those will never go away

No matter how much I try.

So I push them away

Yet I still hear their words

But who cares what they call me?

I call myself worse

And they let me be

Because they love to be right.

When will all these reasons

Ever truely be mine?