The rejection of friends to hang or to talk.
They don't mean to hurt, cuz it's no big deal,
They don't know it's written in pen, not in chalk.
I need them, maybe too much,
but since my family is little help,
I rely on friends, to let my get by,
Though how I feel like a useless whelp.
I'm scared they'll get tired,
Afraid I'll be a bore,
Or to make them mad,
And still, what is more,
This fear is the thing,
It surely must be,
That is actually annoying,
How can I break free?
I wish sometimes, faintly and weak,
That simply I didn't care,
But that is not the truth, it is too cold,
Such a wish I wouldn't dare.
It hurts to be here, so what is the point?
You wouldn't know if you were gone.
So why do I stay, if it matters not?
Cuz perhaps someday, I'll belong.
Some things do help, distraction is bliss,
And for these things do I remain,
For if I was gone, I wouldn't be here,
To regret it, or feel the pain.