To all of the scrawny teens
Who sold their sorrows for 80% under market value
In the hopes somebody would pick it up
And for once, coddle it in their arms.
And to all of the paranoid adults
Who are insomniacs by career and delusional as a hobby
Expecting to never make it and being shocked
They wake up the next day alive.
You took pity on the mirror, who, in turn,
Wished the best for you once you left it behind.