Rosie

Rosie doesn't know all her friends went and killed themselves. Rosie doesn't see that nobody is interrested. For she only talks about herself, no she never listens to anybody else. If she asks you something, which is very rare, it is only because she has something to share. She doesn't hear the silence, not like others do, she'll sing very loudly, she'll embarras you. Rosie thinks friendships can easily be bought, she will buy you flowers without a second thought. But oh, the flowers all withered away, and your resentment grows day by day, you don't know how much longer you can stay. Rosie doesn't see how you never look her in the eye, she doesn't understand that when she talks for hours, you want to die. But how could she know, when nobody told her? You're just like the rest, you're like all the others. Perhaps Rosie will never know that others want to talk, too. Unless somebody tells her, but we know it won't be you.