There she goes again,
dreaming that things will
get better.
There she goes again,
wishing that people would stop
hating.
There you go again,
watching her and wishing you could be
a bit like her,
wishing you could be as naive.

There she goes again,
crying in secret for
no reason.
She’s scared.
There she goes again,
taking a razor to her arms as the
mental illness takes over
every one of her aspects.
There you go again, being
so
damn
ignorant.

There she goes again,
putting on her happy face and
not letting anybody see past it.
There she goes again, thinking
everybody hates her,
nobody appreciates her,
when everything is the opposite.
There you go again,
ignoring her real problems because
you’re not used to her
sad side.

There she goes again, thinking
she’s not as beautiful as she
really is.
There she goes again,
feeling unloved because
nobody ever said just how much they
loved her.
There you go again,
thinking she’s just being
dramatic.

There she goes for the
last time,
swallowing her pills.
There she goes for the
last time, writing
“F--- you all”
on a piece of paper.
There you go again, being
surprised and
sullen.

There she goes for the
last time, being
just
like
me.