I can't stop seeing what I do
Rendering my thoughts insignificant is impossible
How cynical is my perspective
The little wrinkles stand out the most to me
But how I interpret them is the problem
I see the halo surrounded by flames
I see the serpent's tongue flicking in the clouds

I observe everyone's hurt
Who sees mine?
Who caresses my mind when I see Daddy drunk?
Who smiles at me when my eyes are swollen driving at midnight?
No one
People are too infatuated with themselves to see me
In my darkest hours of thoughts and constellations,
I see the people.
I can't stop seeing the people and their hurt.
My hand is always towards someone,
Yet there is none ****** towards me as I fall.
This is why the world is filled with hatred and pain.
It isn't the Daddys that are drunk or the Mommys that don't care.
It is the people that see the hurt and aren't there.
It is the people that can't care for the broken winged creature.
It is the people.