Don't tell me not to die inside.
Don't lie and say that you care.
You don't even know what caring means
and you don't care to learn.
The truth is you are glad for my pain,
my unease,
my never-ending suffering.

It must somehow feel like justice to you.
The power you get,
the power THEY gave you.
Hands,
hearts,
and minds,
monitoring.
Judging.
Wanting.
Waiting.
Eager to see me fail.
To justify your existence.
To validate you
and the values you claim make you superior.
When the truth is
we are just fancy monkeys.
The only ones that put each other in cages,
that relentlessly derive joy from ruining each other's lives.
That construct elaborate ruses to assuage each other as to safety
and the zenith of right and wrong realized
and in action.
No one knows why our minds sometimes take the turns that they do.
Do you ever ask yourself why you need or want so much power?
Control,
influence.
Who has what sickness and why?
Is the sickness chosen much worse than an instinct acted upon?
Isn't cold premeditated calculation much worse than an impulse?
Each leaf, like a snowflake, is different.
Similar, perhaps, but truly not "the same."
Who cares though, right?
It's the cookie cutter for all of them !