Hello, ma'am.

Excuse me, sir.

If you could,

Could I please have a word?

Do you have a cup

Of motivation to spare?

I don't think I could repay the price,

But I hope that you're aware that

My generation's killing themselves

And no one seems to care, so

Spare me a little energy

And I promise I'll get out of your hair.

You see,

We normalize our hurt

In an attempt to make ourselves feel less lonely.

But instead,

We don't feel hurt, we feel normal,

And my feelings are valid if only

I'm standing at the edge of a cliff

Or I've got vomit dripping from my lips.

So, if you don't fit that criteria,

Please hold and we'll transfer you to someone

Who will recommend you an eating

Disorder therapist in your area.

'Cause I don't have time to deal with your sh*t

Right now.

I've got a boy on the other line that's

Afraid to come out,

Because his fathers been abusing him since he was young,

His mother died, and his sister lied about the drugs so,

You can see I'm very busy

With people dying quicker.

But once you one up my mental illness I get sicker.

Or is it just me?

Is it just me?

Just me, who

Feels so invalid without a 12 word diagnosis

Because, yeah, six is a lot but she's got

Borderline psychosis.

And no one seems to listen to the second loudest

In the room.

So I'll just keep screaming till my head explodes,

My hands go numb, and my voice goes shrill.

I feel like dying,

But I guess not as much as you.

(So it doesn't matter, right?)