Poetry, ambition?
tw: suicidality.
Maybe,
Death?
Maybe that,
Is indeed the right path?
Correct me,
But this world,
It kills souls,
It makes us agonize,
In the knowledge that we are supposed to be what's considered "wrong".
It makes us long,
For that taste of...
Being seen,
Heard,
Read,
Being something that exists, (for once.)
But...
Does it allow us to do that?
Or does it allow countless of us to die without ever being looked at?
Tell me,
What happens,
To the hurt?
Or are you,
Yourself —
Living proof?
Maybe,
You're just someone,
Who doesn't feel this,
I won't say you're non empathetic, nor nothing alike,
Maybe you read these words and think;
"Why does she think that? Why's life so evil in her opinion?"
Well,
The answer,
Is in-between,
The words,
I have written.
And, if I have an ambition,
It's to at least die,
Without losing,
Everything life,
Forced me to write.
