They

I don’t expect the world to hand me riches,

I want to earn the rewards of one who never ditches.

But every day I wake up feeling colder, numb to the circumstances I’m in,

Unable to feel anything with my own skin,

other people who are beside me every day,

Unable to ask or care about their day,

I’m unwilling to meet them halfway.

I must say I feel betrayed by the system I’ve known,

been blocked out by reasons that remain to be unknown,

and shunned by expressing the sincere emotions I’ve shown,

because they don’t know strife,

and continue to assume my "simple" life.

It is not theirs, so why should they care?

They don’t want to see the crosses that I consistently bare

because what they can’t see simply isn’t really there.

I fear they will see my anger,

they will know my rage,

understanding nothing, they’ll be locked in my cage,

unable to see,

unable to love,

unable to live,

dying to taste a fatal drug.

I hate their faces,

I want to scratch them off,

to see if there are any traces

of anything resembling love.