Passer by

You see me, as just another girl.
Just another "passer by" in the hall.
And to tell you the truth, that is all I am.
I don't expect friends, or for anyone to call.

But what if you really did try to know me?
Would you then still consider me a passer by?
I don't think so.
I think you’d give me much more credit for not showing how much I cry.

You would then see all these bruises and scars,
From everyday, when I do self harm,
And you would know about the nights when I've taken pills,
And had no plan for the morning alarm.

You could see all my pain if you would look close enough.
Except you can't, because I am only a passer by.
You don't, and never will, understand how easy it would be for me to die
But please tell me, what is it that keeps you all alive?