Try as I might
You just
Won't
Let
Me
Escape

No matter what you may say,
About it being fine,
it's really not okay,
And we clearly both know why.

Her happy wasn't happy. She didn't have happy.
She had sadness.
Or she had nothingness.
and the nothingness was so much worse than the sadness.
Feeling nothing at all was worse than the most excruciating pain she had ever been through. It tortured her more than all those nights of crying herself to sleep. It ate at her more than all her tormentors' words. And it left more scars than all her cuts.
Her happy wasn't happy.
It was sadness,
because the alternative was  *nothingness.

Ones who are skilled go by unnoticed;
While the unskilled ones get all the attention.
Why is that, I ask?

The dream I'm so desperately chasing,
My only remaining wish,
The one thing I would die for?
Not going to happen.
It's simple statistics.

The goal so near yet so far,
My only purpose in life,
The one thing I can't live without?
Not going to happen.
It's simple statistics.

The reward unlike any other,
My only hope and dream,
The one thing that actually matters?
Not going to happen.
It's simple statistics.

The most important thing,
My only remaining hope
The one thing I truly need?
Not going to happen.
*It's simple statistics.

It won't get any better.
It will only get worse.

Life is a Machine for Pigs
The best of us are
Slaughtered
Sliced
Cooked,
And served
To the worst of us
who are simply ignored
by the torturous
Machine
for Pigs

The best of us
upon The Arrival
of the Machine
Slowly begin
a Dark Descent
A spiral into
Neverending Nightmares
But nobody
is there
To hear
our Cry of Fear.
The worst of us
Are not deemed
fit for the Machine.

and so,
the best of us,
The Lost Souls,
The Last of Us,
are still subjected
To the Machine's
Mental
Ominous
Evil
Lasting
Purgatory
that is the Machine
for Pigs.