Passion
I used to have a passion for life. I lost commitment to a world I no longer felt apart of and that passion dwindled. I tried to hold on, believe me I tried, but slowly footholds crumbled away. With each rejection, each betrayal, every time I got a dirty look from my peers, the footholds fell away… And my passion. Dwindled. Family reunions I used to smile in the face of now have me cringing. Because I cracked the code; I figured out that “Respect your elders” means “Be still, sit quiet while they tear you apart like wolves.” I still have scars. Teeth marks from when the wolves invited their friends and the gods forsake me. There's still scars. Thin red lines adorn my skin like the ones etched in cell walls recording how long I've been trapped. I've suffered. I've suffered so long in this prison of a mind where I'm a wolf; I'm the wolf tearing and biting and chewing till there's nothing but lines. And tears. And pain.
--selcouth-saudade