Not another rough patch

So there is this thing called life
Ive heard it can go wither way
It can be the best thing in the world
Or it can be extraordinarily gay

So why is it he life that fits the saying
"Life's a B****"?
Why is she to deal with the burden
In which her moods continue to switch?

Why is her mother dead?
What could she have possibly done
To be dealt with the cards she has been since she was nine?
It doesn't sound very fun.

When you are so young
You don't quite understand
Why your mummy is always so sick
And not home to hold your hand

At the age of nine
How are you supposed to know?
Why you mum is in hospital
Not watching you perform in your first real show.

There is so much knowledge
I which children tend to lack
But for some reason one thing is quite clear
Your mummy isn't coming back.

The death of you mother, no matter your age
Hurts beyond comprehension
So imagine being nine, even five
Suddenly she attracted a lot of attention

Maybe she didn't want that
Had it occurred that maybe she wanted to be left alone?
Because if you confronted her she know
That her true feelings would be shown

She didn't know what to do
She thought she'd don't something wrong
No matter what though
She knew she had to be strong

Even though it was hard
Something convinced her that she'd pull through
She had to mature on her own
She was hurting but made sure nobody knew

Maybe that's why she is so good now
Almost no one knows how she really feels
Sometimes she even gets confused
As to which one of her is real

They keep on telling her its just another 'rough patch'
Things she knows are wrong
They don't know whats going on
But she does, and has all along

This time it isn't fixable
It is in fact for real
Her problems keep falling deeper, wont stop
No one can change the way she feels

It is like a repeat
Of how it was back then
But now she knows what shes doing, still feels like crap
No longer is she capable to pretend

Depression controls her life now
It consumes her as a whole
She is so sick of her life
And all the things it stole

Her moods are no longer stable
Happiness is what she lacks
One thing is for certain
Her mother isn't coming back

Maybe that's what she needs
Her mother to tell her it will be OK
That in fact is what she wanted, still does
Each and everyday

But that is one thing
In which she will never get
That is something cruel reality
Will never let her forget

Friendship problems don't help either
She cant even watch her walk by
Without totally losing it
And only wanting to cry

When the time is right
She will so what she needs to do
This is not another 'rough patch'
She will not see this one through

So don't tell her it is going to be ok, because its not
It is so hard for her, you don't have the faintest clue
How do I know? She is me.
And the buttons left to touch are very few.
I'm done.