139,680 Minutes.

And for once the world is not the problem,
but merely the place I wish I could run to.

Inside these walls, I'm hated.
I'm scorned and I'm sad,
and I'm tired
of not knowing what to do
about it.

And I'm sorry,
that I'm far from perfect.
That I'm here,
and that you love me.

I'm sorry that I'm so messed up.
But I tried to warn you,
then I gave up.

I'm hated...
by the people who should love me.
And it hurts, to know,
they don't want me.

I'm sorry.
I don't know what else to say.
But I'll be gone,
in one year
and 97 days.