There She Sits.

There she sits, Measuring her wrists. Pulling at her thighs, I see her desperate cries. There she sits, Considering calling it quits. Joking about how she wants to die, As I try to convince her not to say goodbye There she sits, Hurting more than she admits. She acts like his death didnt hurt her at all, But I can see her silent call. And then there's me, sitting all alone, I cannot let my suffering be shown. Because it's not as painful, not as bad, Not good enough reasons to be sad. So I shove it all down, deep inside of me. Cause if I'm not there for them, who will be?