Somethings missing in my life

As if im isolated, different from everybody
Its obvious, im not the only one seeing it
As if im a plague, something easy to hate
They will let me alone, leave me in my sorrow
Somethings missing in my life

I'm caught in this box of glass
screaming, crying, calling their names
They dont notice my cry
They dont see me at all
Here, caught, forever to be
in this box of glass

People avoid me, acting as if i dont exist
They laugh, have fun, continue their life
They dont see that im here, i could be dead
And they wouldnt even notice the slightest bit
Somethings missing in my life

I'm caught in this box of glass
screaming, crying, calling their names
They dont notice my cry
They dont see me at all
Here, caught, forever to be
in this box of glass

My heart is filled with depression, as if i cant breathe
No matter what i do or say, they will never really care
People will come, and they will leave
But in the end, i will always be alone
Because somethings missing in my life
Im missing the happiness i havent got...

Author's Note

This poem is old, but older than most of my poems. I'm guessing I would've been between 13 and 15 years old while I wrote this.
Every review is more than welcome!

Reviews

[Cicera]

Every word here is true, beautiful and terrible as it feels. And I mean every word, because to go through this experience one understands the true meaning of beauty, and one has to take an honest and true dive into the sea of pain-where pain is the water whereas the sea is a word that can apply on broader descriptions. Where painkillers take their places on market shelves, in a world so full with lies swallowing them seems like crudeness, dishonesty, and hypocrisy. It is normal that they laugh, have fun and continue with their lives.

And I mean every word, because every word is a drop of your proper blood. blood is so abundant but still so valuable, that even their shelves fall short of many. It is then, when now and then they face their faults, that they understand that they too are missing something. But it only takes a short time for them to turn their faces away, and resume their faceless blithe.

Suffering is very true of a living soul. But not only that, it is also beautiful and terrible at the same time.

[Walk away slow poet]

These words could easily be lyrics, I really like this write. The emotions are so real and so deep. Such a powerful read, nicely done.