Our scars could tell a story.

About a broken past.

I know we're not alone.

Because depression never lasts.

Lying facedown, on the floor.

A broken, bloody, mess.

She knows the touch of so much worse.

A secret to confess.

God paints on the sunset.

And the tears soon dry away.

He shares the love he's always had.

She won't be sad today.

And even in the sadness,

the stars are always there.

So whisper them your secrets.

The secrets they won't share.

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