Beneath the surface.

Another layer of dirt to cover the coffin.
Another day to rot.
One less visitor.
Let them walk away.
Let them leave, like all the others.
Push away that dead body.
Get it away.
Bury it.
Hide it.
Say she was loved.
Say she was lovely.
Say she'll be missed.
Truthfully, she was lonely.
Because like in death,
people just came around less and less.
Not that they didn't care,
but she took too much effort.
She had too many problems.
No one could deal with her.
She died lonely and sad.
Because she had given up before life even began.
People kept trying to break through the shells of protection,
but they never made it close.
They each tried to fix her,
but they never saw what the issue was,
and they never thought to ask.
They never saw how simple it was.
But after all, you could blame her, for her loneliness.
You could blame her, for all her issues.
You could blame her, like she does herself.
Even though, deep below all the faces and masks,
she just wanted someone to find the real cause.
Someone who'd look at it through clean eyes,
rather than her own biased ones.
She died lonely and sad,
because she was taught she couldn't ask for help,
she had to stand on her own.
She knew she couldn't do it,
so she didn't want to burden the world.
She couldn't be self sufficient,
so she did what she thought was right,
and took herself from this world.
So no longer would anyone have to give up any part of themselves to help her.
She was lovely, and wonderful.
She was honest, and caring.
She was so many things.
She was almost perfect,
except for one fatal flaw.
But no one ever saw these things.
They never knew how to help her.
So she died lonely and sad,
because she never let anyone hold her hand,
because she was taught that it wasn't okay.