Child--
They screamed at me every moment they could. Their demising voices clouding my head with a hiss and chant. They told me to do things that I couldn't bear to deal with.
I tried to speak back to them, but they never paid any mind to my words. I was just a child, they'd tell me, I hadn't known what I was going on about.
It seemed as if nobody ever listened to me, no mark to their brains as words I spoke had no meaning to their conscience.
They only listened to me when it was something that concerned them about their lives.
Only I cared about what I thought. It seemed that way anyhow.
The only ones that listened to me where myself, my head constantly caving in with my thoughts. The times I had rarely spoke was when there was a bottle of Jack in my hand, a cigarette in the other.
I felt insane with my mental.
The torture my mind brought to my body made me weak.
The things that could kill me most brought depressing joy to my life. The toxicity of the alcohol damaging my liver, and the puff of smoke blackening my lungs.
That was the only sanctuary I carried with me. The only time I spoke to someone across from me, but them never listening, too caught up with their own problems, was when those things were guarded in each hand.
No one dared to listen, for I was just a child who hadn't known any better.
But it wasn't my conscience that screwed me so much, it was words that people had held against me, clogging up my mind.
Their words, much more toxic than those physical things that could potentially kill me.
Their words made me insane, not the objects that became my necessities.
But, I was just a child. I hadn't any clue as to how I felt.
And I'd let them think that if it made them feel more superior.
~Anonymous
