I fucking hate this shit. Everything. Why is everything make Ты feel like Ты want to curl up and fucking die! Why does everything that seems so perfect crumble into small pieces that are unfixable? How come the girl sitting across from Ты is staring at Ты with a look so harsh, Ты can taste the disgust in your mouth? Is that how everyone feels around you? Ты want to ask what the fuck her problem is, but of course like the good little Энджел Ты are, Ты keep your mouth shut, and as Ты sit there taking her look Ты Вопрос everything. Ты were always raised to be the bigger person, to be nice and friendly even when people don't return the favor, to achieve all and never fall.
Right?
And as Ты enter life does everyone place their bets on if Ты will succeed или fail? As Ты age, through those terrible fucking years Ты go through, everyone seems to have a нож at your throat waiting for Ты to mess up so they can apply еще pressure to the blade? So they can wait 'till Ты mess up again and dig it deeper, and slowly through all your mistakes Ты make, all the small mistakes Ты make, the people holding the нож to your throat get the chance to slit it. And drop the weakest link, because once Ты mess up, since everyone thought Ты were perfect and expected Ты to excel in every fucking piece of shit Ты do, there is no need for you.
Right?
It seems like the whole world, seven fucking billion people on this small dying planet, is holding their breath watching as Ты walk the tightrope of life. even you.
But what about the six billion, nine hundred ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, and nine hundred and ninety-nine other people? Are they all on tightropes, too? And if they are, those blasted bastards, do they have the support and cords that Ты aren't aloud to have? Because Ты have no imperfections, that's why Ты aren't aloud. And when Ты open your mouth to scream for help, because you're almost falling, they sew it up to keep it shut. No complaints must come from the world's perfect kid.
Right?
So along Ты travel, maturing and aging, but those fucking people, that had a нож to your throat, now add one to your back. Ты gain some Друзья but they are those people, and as your trust for them grows the blade is slowly digging into your skin, Ты can feel it too. But as the fucking good little angel Ты are, Ты keep your head high, and be a trooper though the tears burn scars into your heart. The trust that once was a lively flame is put out by treason, and is now nothing but a ember glowing in the ash. Ты keep walking though, 'cause there is always light at the end of the tunnel, someone waiting for Ты to stoke the little ember, care for it and add a little love, that will set it ablaze.
Right?
But what if that special one doesn't come? What do Ты do? Ты then grow up believing Ты were never good enough for anyone; anything. How could anyone Любовь a freak like you? Someone that doesn't know how to fight and just takes the shit that is thrown at them? But Ты were raised that way? Ты were always taught to be loving and compassionate, and because every time Ты did stand your ground and fight back the knives would cut Ты down till Ты were nothing.
Right?
So here Ты are at the guillotine, there is no need for you. Ты stood up for yourself, and people that do that can only have one fate: Have everyone against them and face their extermination. The breath of the everyone is let out in one exhale, all the money placed on the таблица for Ты failing is awarded to the betters, and Ты are going to fall like the rest of the freaks that don't fit in.
Right?
Wrong.
Ты back away, and dive off the tightrope. Who wants to live a life like everyone else, when Ты can live free. Who gives a fuck if everyone around Ты spits in disgust, you're you.
So even if Ты don't feel needed, even if Ты aren't brand new, even if Ты aren't the shiniest, или the strongest, the thickest, или the coolest. Ты are still Ты and even if Ты are the weakest link, Ты sit in the middle of the connection, and the chain you're on will break apart without you.
Right?
Right.
((Just feeling bad about myself today and felt like Письмо it out... I don't care if this get one view или none.. it just felt goof to get it out.))
Right?
And as Ты enter life does everyone place their bets on if Ты will succeed или fail? As Ты age, through those terrible fucking years Ты go through, everyone seems to have a нож at your throat waiting for Ты to mess up so they can apply еще pressure to the blade? So they can wait 'till Ты mess up again and dig it deeper, and slowly through all your mistakes Ты make, all the small mistakes Ты make, the people holding the нож to your throat get the chance to slit it. And drop the weakest link, because once Ты mess up, since everyone thought Ты were perfect and expected Ты to excel in every fucking piece of shit Ты do, there is no need for you.
Right?
It seems like the whole world, seven fucking billion people on this small dying planet, is holding their breath watching as Ты walk the tightrope of life. even you.
But what about the six billion, nine hundred ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, and nine hundred and ninety-nine other people? Are they all on tightropes, too? And if they are, those blasted bastards, do they have the support and cords that Ты aren't aloud to have? Because Ты have no imperfections, that's why Ты aren't aloud. And when Ты open your mouth to scream for help, because you're almost falling, they sew it up to keep it shut. No complaints must come from the world's perfect kid.
Right?
So along Ты travel, maturing and aging, but those fucking people, that had a нож to your throat, now add one to your back. Ты gain some Друзья but they are those people, and as your trust for them grows the blade is slowly digging into your skin, Ты can feel it too. But as the fucking good little angel Ты are, Ты keep your head high, and be a trooper though the tears burn scars into your heart. The trust that once was a lively flame is put out by treason, and is now nothing but a ember glowing in the ash. Ты keep walking though, 'cause there is always light at the end of the tunnel, someone waiting for Ты to stoke the little ember, care for it and add a little love, that will set it ablaze.
Right?
But what if that special one doesn't come? What do Ты do? Ты then grow up believing Ты were never good enough for anyone; anything. How could anyone Любовь a freak like you? Someone that doesn't know how to fight and just takes the shit that is thrown at them? But Ты were raised that way? Ты were always taught to be loving and compassionate, and because every time Ты did stand your ground and fight back the knives would cut Ты down till Ты were nothing.
Right?
So here Ты are at the guillotine, there is no need for you. Ты stood up for yourself, and people that do that can only have one fate: Have everyone against them and face their extermination. The breath of the everyone is let out in one exhale, all the money placed on the таблица for Ты failing is awarded to the betters, and Ты are going to fall like the rest of the freaks that don't fit in.
Right?
Wrong.
Ты back away, and dive off the tightrope. Who wants to live a life like everyone else, when Ты can live free. Who gives a fuck if everyone around Ты spits in disgust, you're you.
So even if Ты don't feel needed, even if Ты aren't brand new, even if Ты aren't the shiniest, или the strongest, the thickest, или the coolest. Ты are still Ты and even if Ты are the weakest link, Ты sit in the middle of the connection, and the chain you're on will break apart without you.
Right?
Right.
((Just feeling bad about myself today and felt like Письмо it out... I don't care if this get one view или none.. it just felt goof to get it out.))