Some say life is only as good as you make it. That, ultimately, you are in control of your own happiness. That every person is unique, and beautiful. However it seems as though the only people who support this theory are the happy, the beautiful, the wealthy, and the loved. For the rest of us life is suffering, a test, and pain. Life is loneliness, rejection, guilt, paranoia, fear, cynicism, and hatred.
We see them every day, walking past them on the street, in the grocery store, the poor, the ugly, the lonely, the insane. They have nothing except for a moment's shameful glance from the people they pass, not even a memory is spared for them, they are forgotten. They have no home, they know no love, they do not exist save when they are seen by the public eye. No one knows where they go, who they are, what they do, and nobody cares. We pity them, but yet we'll have nothing to do with them. They cry alone with not a single soul to comfort them. We are the abandoned, we are God's failed experiments, we are the damned...
Not even the screaming rage that resonates from your lips can drown out the ringing in my ears. And I look at you with eyes that are on fire in a glowing halo of hatred. My voice, always thought to be so quiet, begins to rise in a violent crescendo as I explode in a furry of anger, helplessness, and misery. Kicking around all the shit on the floor, throwing over tables and shelves. I shove you into the TV that hasn't worked in months as I'm met with the stream of obscenities that erupts from your throat in a deafening scream of fear, and anger. Finally we break down, holding each other as we cry on the floor. Laying on top the endless piles of junk that masks a floor that hasn't been seen in years, this mess we call our home, attracting, and infested with insects and rodents that scurry out from under us. We stare at each other in contemptuous disgust. I hate you just as much as you hate me, but we have no one else, we have nowhere to go, and no one to love. We know that we need each other.
We see them every day, walking past them on the street, in the grocery store, the poor, the ugly, the lonely, the insane. They have nothing except for a moment's shameful glance from the people they pass, not even a memory is spared for them, they are forgotten. They have no home, they know no love, they do not exist save when they are seen by the public eye. No one knows where they go, who they are, what they do, and nobody cares. We pity them, but yet we'll have nothing to do with them. They cry alone with not a single soul to comfort them. We are the abandoned, we are God's failed experiments, we are the damned...
Not even the screaming rage that resonates from your lips can drown out the ringing in my ears. And I look at you with eyes that are on fire in a glowing halo of hatred. My voice, always thought to be so quiet, begins to rise in a violent crescendo as I explode in a furry of anger, helplessness, and misery. Kicking around all the shit on the floor, throwing over tables and shelves. I shove you into the TV that hasn't worked in months as I'm met with the stream of obscenities that erupts from your throat in a deafening scream of fear, and anger. Finally we break down, holding each other as we cry on the floor. Laying on top the endless piles of junk that masks a floor that hasn't been seen in years, this mess we call our home, attracting, and infested with insects and rodents that scurry out from under us. We stare at each other in contemptuous disgust. I hate you just as much as you hate me, but we have no one else, we have nowhere to go, and no one to love. We know that we need each other.
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