Here we are again, in the same empty room standing with ourselves, but there's something new. It's a cat.
We pet it, we hold it, gain it's trust. It is now a pet. Then it turns to clouds and disappears.
We are lonely yet again.
This is pointless.
This is pointless, standing in the empty, now dark room.
Alone with the demon in the floor.
A light shining above us no matter where we walk.
It seems like a dream. It's not...it's a sentence.
Friends come and go. Plans go unfinished and time seems endless with boredom.
Where'd the demon go you might think. It's still in the floor quietly waiting for you to return.
'What if it gets lonely?' Oh...well it stays that way.
The world is mean and calls for superior power to shut them up. To keep them inside. To remove flaws and all.
Calling itself the greatest country.
It's not. It sucks. IT'S SHIT.
It's shit I will say. Just like the rest of the world. When a little bit is done, and the few that are trying. To take another century to rise to full beauty. Maybe even longer.
Maybe I shouldn't do anything when I'm this close to failing at the system. When I'm so close to breaking down yet again.
'YOUR WORRIES AREN'T AS BAD AS OURS' they'll brag.
'I'VE HAD THIS WORSE' they'll repeat
'YOU'RE TOO YOUNG TO UNDERSTAND' they spewed
I've been more grown up at my age and less childish at 8 years old; worrying if I'm bothering them or annoying them.
I did both. And I took the guilt for what they've told about me.
I couldn't play tag with them...I couldn't play with them. They would play with others, but not me.
I found myself lonely for 4 years ever since kindergarten.
And now great, I got friends. Wowee what a surprise. Depression at 4th grade, with friends.
That went okay.
YOU ARE READING
I show, You tell
DiversosI'm trying to write everyday to get the feeling of writing. just poems and thoughts I jotted down before and now are put up thanks if read. It's not. Anymore. It's just sadness in sentences. Stuff.
