Rain splashed like thunder in the sky on the ground. It was dark, like night despite the afternoon. Everyone was gone, she was alone. She watched outside her window at the violent lightning and felt the rumble of the thunder in her chest. The drops of water ran down the glass pane like her tears down her cheeks. Confusion and neglect ripped at her soul. It’s them, it’s you. It’s them, it’s you. Everything she ever did for them floated through her mind. Everything they never did crushed her mind. Never called, never invited, never let in; hell. How do you know people for four years and they never show they care or not in that time. Why do you stay with them? It’s them, it’s you. It’s them, it’s you. Covered innocence exposed, immatureness seeps through toxic liquid down their throats. 'It’s kewl to gulp down poison to be abetter dancer and to be more funny to later pass out, throw up and wake up with what feel likes your head is cracked open.' Fuck them. Despair is acknowledged through her tears. Why can’t she explain, why can’t she help when she wants to so badly. Why can’t they see her? Is that what friends are for? Confusion, negativity, despair, pain, want, all for friends she cares about. It’s them, it’s you. It’s them, it’s you. It’s me. There’s something wrong with me.