Echoes of the Deep

A Letter From The Younger

Light spills through your window

With the promise of greatness in a distant future,

Smiles spread across our cheeks,

Unaware of the madness yet to breech

Our feeble little minds,

Naive to the world at large,

Yet happy, for the very last time.

Over the years the world darkened -

Bleak, with the responsibilities of adulthood,

The real world that's been thrusted into our weak

And open arms;

Shootings, a failing economy, and an image to keep up

With no room for error or failure or your own feelings

Because there's no worth in passion or happiness anymore,

There's no worth in just being alive anymore,

The spark of life drifted off to another naive generation

Because this one's already lost hope;

No one takes us seriously, criticized everywhere we go

By people that refuse to acknowledge some of our existences

Or get to know us in any way or

Take responsibility for their actions.

Bliss doesn't come from a nice relaxing night with friends or family

Anymore,

It comes from the death of sleep.

The Non-committal release of life's white knuckle grip,

A Non-committal release from the pointless monotony

Of everyday,

From the Dark waves of depression and anxiety

Littered throughout every up and coming mind,

And people still have the nerve

To say were just being dramatic,

Not trying,

Being lazy,

Because we have it so much better

Than they did;

We all walk the bridge of a hopeless ending,

No one person is strong enough to make people realize

What an entire generation of people are going through,

And most of us have gone no contact 

Or stopped trying because -

What's the point;

Every word,

Every law,

Every bullet,

Is one more drop in the sea of our

13 reasons why,

Because why live in a place that doesn't acknowledge

The pain of its people,

A place that doesn't even want some of its people

To exist in the first place.

Relief, belonging, hope, and acceptance are a rare experience

Usually found in the depths of the internet,

In the blanket of sleep,

In the parent of music,

Or the pages of a story,

In places we feel accepted -

In places we actually want to be -

Yet that we get judged and criticized for every step of the way,

Because out here is a bleeding warzone

Of malintent and malicious arrows

That strike at the heart of everyone they can get;

Why stay in a place so soaked in blackness

Of all kinds,

Why stay in a place that caters to the seed of your depression

Then tells you to suck it up - 

Because how could you know what it's like,

When you've been given everything you need,

How could you know the truth of suffering

When you've "never had reason to bleed,"

Their gaze cluelessly glazing over 

The blood seeping out our skulls,

The blood filling our eyes,

The blood sucking air from out our lungs,

The blood tainting our soul's every breath,

Stripping it of its purpose,

Of the essence of itself -

Of its reason to stay alive;

Don't judge or talk down someone you hardly know,

Don't judge an entire generation of people 

For something you don't understand:

Because it really could be their 13th reason why.