I always wore a smile,
(When inside I was dying, )
I would insist that I was fine,
(When really I was crying).
I didn't trust anyone,
With the fact I was depressed,
So I suffered by myself,
Desperately longing for rest.
I was always too ashamed,
(Or too stubborn at least, )
To admit that I was weak,
And that my joy had long since ceased.
So I don't know
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