Sitting with the rich kids. Watching as they smoke their cigarettes, you notice their dead smiles. When I first saw how they lived, noticed how much freedom they had which I craved. I thought of them as blessed. But after they lit cigarette after cigarette I noticed their smiles.
Sadness can not be easily covered up and as another cigarette bud was flicked into the freshly cut grass by a rich kid, I looked up at him. Smiles can only be real or fake and when you plaster fake smiles on all the time you begin to point them out in crowds. These smiles were plastered on all of the rich kids faces.
Another cigarette flicked into the grass and another and another. The world is flooded in cigarette buds, and now I can see what having their life must be like.
Lonely.
They are just like us, except they have the money to destroy themselves. They have the money to **** themselves, they can smoke cigarettes or drink until there's nothing.
Watching them laugh and knowing that they are just like us, I felt bad for them. If the rich kids aren't even happy then who is? If the rich kids are trying to destroy themselves, then who wishes they were still breathing? We are all the same, ****** up in the brain and dancing in deaths door frame.
Sitting next to the rich kids, I took a cigarette from one of them. I let him light it as his eyes focused on me. If we are all the same, why not be destroyed together?