Some say I ask for it too much.

Some say I ask for none at all.

The thing is,

Every time he passes by,

They run and crowd,

And scream his name.

I stand alone,

Outside,

And cold.

No one ever seems to care.

No one cares that I feel like dying,

No one cares that when I hold a razor,

My hands start shacking

Because I don't want to be here anymore.

But that's alright.

I do it for attention right?

I will survive.

They've got it worse.

Or at least that's what they say.