We're not meant to understand others' poetry,
As if we've been through the same experiences they have,
Been dealt with the same cards of trauma as they have-
As if we actually care.
As if we know that sometimes, the words "you need help",
Is something we realized a long time ago.
We've known - we didn't think that we would suddenly go from crazy to normal overnight,
Even though we wished that; even though we were convinced one day we would.
Their mother is a whore.
Their father acts like a cunt.
The person they loved for two years that suddenly left is a dick.
…Worse than they can even manage.
The emotional -
Though you're emotionless, seemingly -
Turmoil inside your fucking head is too much,
You can't help that it's your fault.
But that other, that other personality;
Just jumps in and seethes.
Your mother was the one that cheated.
Your father is the one that chose drugs over you.
The one person you convinced yourself to love is the one who left when they said they never would.
Fate in humanity?
Love for anything?
The want and desire to live anymore?
Hasn't been felt in five years.
But still, stay here,
Wish on the days that you aren't depressed that you were;
Just so you would feel numb and hopeless.
Just wait until that day you decide not to wear a seatbelt
And intentionally drive into oncoming traffic.
It'll happen. Sooner or later.
Because you're fragile;
As a butterfly:
An insect that no human would ever give two shits about.
As weak as the world beat intended you to be.