Musings

The frustration that no one can see, sitting right in front of them. The screaming no one can hear, that continues right in their ear. So much static put into pills and cures, and things that never work. Heart wrenching, mind numbing, caustic behavior to ones you say you love. You watch, and observe, and create based on that which you feel, when the pseudo pain shows through on painted features, you think nothing along the lines of what you speak. “Poor thing” has become code for, ‘I’m glad that’s not me.’ We become the very people we hate in the moments where we lose our minds, and wonder why your reflection shakes it’s head at your bloodshot eyes. Your blind eyes, and your deaf ears, and your rationality make you the very person you swore you’d never become. You lose the purity of youth and the innocents childhood at thirteen, no pressure. We’ve put smoke and mirrors, and given a crutch for the stupid and the needy, and now it’s the fault of the quiet kid that your fourteen year old daughter is pregnant, or your thirteen year old smokes. Pressure from those you thought were peers leads you down the road to destruction, not the whisper in your ear to fit in and impress instilled by your parents.



You’d rather be dead then different?