Nameless

Her friends, they weren’t able to accept the scars she had from wounds others put upon her. Couldn’t see that while her face smiled her eyes didn’t. Or notice while she looked you in your eyes she was hopelessly trying to look for herself. Lost from being drowned in her sorrow. Feeling lucid in a crowd giving illusions of having fun but who actually haves fun when they feel alone around people? Who haves fun when their so drunk from lies and high off of pain that their on cloud depression? Falling deeper into the alcoholic sea to numb their self as a way to heal the scars. Afraid to say anything cause they will be judged. So they cry, in the shower, at 2am, under the pillow, in the car with silence as a soothing reminder that even if you did tell someone who you thought would understand you, they won’t.