Have you ever wanted to write something but you didn’t know how? Like the pain you felt was so great that no words could describe it. The pain you feel, it’s an unknown feeling to the rest of the world. You feel alone. And then those you depend on for comfort aren’t there for you. They leave you there to rot, not caring whether you float or drowned. And you think to yourself, “Why can’t death come early?” And to you it’s a very valid question. But to others? It’s like complaining about the nonoccurrence of WWIII. To others, it’s a question that’ll make them question your sanity. But is that so wrong? So what if you’re a little insane? At least this way you’re somewhat happy. Being insane is better than being depressed or suicidal. But what if that’s what you become? What if you’re depressed and suicidal? What will they think then? Why of course they’d think, “Off with their head!” But… what’s the problem there? At least this way everyone is happy… right? Wrong. Now the people who are expected to care must put on a show. Now they are the ones in my shoes… and yet they still manage to not understand… All they do is put on a façade for the public eye. They want the attention that comes with the sacrifice. That is all I am to them… the sacrificial lamb. But what’s so wrong with that? At least I have a purpose right?
Sincerely Yours,
Steven