All your life they tell you that you’re worthless, replaceable, a mere scratch on the surface of this whole planet. They say your dreams are just fabricated nothingness and you have no potential. They bleed you dry and yet still come back brandishing an empty syringe, and when you give up and cry and plead with them to stop, just stop draining all of the goodness and hope and happiness, they look at you with disgust and tell you you’re selfish, that you don’t care about anyone or anything and then they ask what went wrong. They want to know what they did that was so bad in their past life that now they have to suffer with this, with you. Every single day they force you onto your knees, kicking and beating and throwing words at you that are diced so finely, so precisely, that as you try to swallow them down without choking, they tear through all of your internal organs and rip through every blood vessel and main capillary, drowning you from the only place you cannot escape; inside. They torture you day after day, and think because they cannot see the scars they inflict on you that they’re simply not there, they ridicule you because all of the pain is bigger than the strength you possess to get up off your knees. Behold though, the glorious, sheer unabashed irony of this terrible world we live in, because as sure as blood is red and tears are wet, as soon as you give in and your eyes start to close with the weight of what it takes just to keep them open, and you finally succumb to the unspeakable truth that you will never be good enough, therefore choosing to sever the ties that bind you to the living world, those who once beat you down and despised you with every breath they took, will no doubt become the few that mourn your passing and cry out loudly so the whole world hears, “Why did nobody notice until it was too late to do anything?”
