Them

You can't help someone who is not in need. You cannot fix the wound, if it won't bleed. If they won't speak. There's no comfort they can seek. If they admit nothing is wrong. They'll start to break down and cry before long. There's no reason why some people just don't fit in. And there's no cure for uncomfortablity in your own skin. Bleeding on the inside. The bruises they cannot hide. They'd hurt themself. Before anyone else. You know they're in pain. So much pain. Enough to drive them insane. But they remain quiet and unseen. Staying by the sidelines, inbetween. Because they refuse to let any emotion show. For fear that, then, everyone would know. Realizing they're not perfect. Not correct. But the others see them, no bigger than an insect. The others wouldn't even care. The others don't even notice them there. So, all you do is sit there and stare. Watching them kill whatever is left of they're life.