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every night she goes to sleep,
a bottle of sleeping pills at her feet,
if she should die before she wakes,
maybe they'll realise all their mistakes.

a tearstained pillow beneath her head,
no one knows she wishes she's dead,
a hundred times she's carefully lied
about those black mascara tears she's cried

she's so lonely, but she'll never let it show,
and she decides nobody will ever, ever know
that when she's curled on the shower floor,
she doesn't even know who she is anymore

she hides it all with a heartbreaking smile,
it's not real; hasn't been for a while
her tears stain her cheeks; it's so hard not to drown
she told you she was fine ... does she look okay now?

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