Won't you smile, if I'm smiling back? That question makes me sound stupid in a town like Aurora. I try to smile nonetheless, but people's negativity are anchors and I am a sinking boat. Don't you ever wish you could always be a child? Happily roaming about. Everything looks so big to you - your sandbox a beach and your backyard a jungle. Careless, without worries, without judgement. There's a word for all of this: it's called being free.
And I don't know if anyone knows it, but this town won’t even allow a freedom within yourself. We're tied down with ropes of judgement and secrecy. Where we are, there's daggers in men's smiles. If one thing happens, you better pray nobody discover, because it's like a disease that won’t rid itself from you. Demons called man will feed the disease to keep the flame to fire. Who are these demons? You think you know who's who until an aftermath resides and in prestigious Aurora, you're the one standing on a stool with a noose as an accessory. They're wishing me death and would care less if it were to follow.
It's beginning to seem as if I have no power within my own life and what revolves around me. And do not tell me this isn't true, because there is not one person in this world who has experienced the utmost damaging cruelties of adolescence as I have. And therefore not one person understands. I want so much to be in good company, but who the fuck do you trust in this town? Everybody knows everybody. And maybe that's considered a good thing somewhere, but it's drowned me with regret and ever constant reminders of who I was and where I've been. Who I was.
See, nobody in this town seems to understand me. Even within their own lives, I wager they've changed indefinitely in various ways from who they've been in the past. Why am I excluded from this theory? Because as hard as I try to show people the real me, they turn a blind eye and slap me in the face. It's a tree of factors. One person turns into 25, and then 50, and then 75 and so on.
One person predicted my fate. As so much I wish to scream bloody murder a 'fuck you' to this person's face, I won’t. Tears would have streaked down my face while doing so. And this person deserves nothing from me, not even a goddamned tear, nor does this person deserve one good fortune. This person revolves around my life because they were the root of the cause.
I'm so sick of saying it's okay, because it's not. I'd rather throw up the words I've previously said saying it is and force hatred down my throat because this fucking person deserves it so. This person fucking ended a happy life as I knew it. This person put a false definition in my name and made others repeat. And now where there's my name one story comes to mind, one word, one degrading aspect of mankind. This person is undoubtedly praised as I'm forced to dig my own grave. I know not why.
Ignorance and constant judgement define this town, but one person planted a seed for this weed to grow. It restraints my limbs and suffocates me, as the person who did the deed smiles in sadistic appeasement. I don't play victim, you forced the role. I did not one fucking thing personally to deserve a disease that so many times has had a frightening attempt to knock me off that stool. Just to get rid of your disease that infests in my life. Nothing is personal or private anymore.
And who's fucking fault is that?
I didn't want to play the blame game, but I couldn't give two fucks anymore.
The people who care don't matter, and the people that matter don't care.
This isn't the end of the world.
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