You dont know what its like.
To walk through these halls of.
To know that there isnt anyone like you here.
Or anywhere.
To know.
That you are a freak.
Nobody has felt what you felt.
Nobody has been touched by the things you have.
Nobdy remembers the things you do.
Nobody has the scars you have.
And nobody has had the things taken away you have.

You are a freak.
Nobody knows you.
And nobody ever will.
You will just sit here.
Razorblade in hand.
Crying.
And knowing that there isnt anyone out there.
That understands you.

So everyone will just walk through these halls.
Oblivious.
Thinking that everything is fine and dandy.
That everything is perfect.
When its not.
In fact, perfect couldnt be any farther away.