I would like to ask you Russos, why Tony Stark is dead?
And who the **** dropped you both on the head?

Cap needs to apologise and his found family,
Nat needs less lies and strong female company.

Thor’s depression should not be overlooked
And where the **** did Pep learn to cook?

Stop letting Fury traumatise a child,  
And for once let hope do something wild.

Stop dropping our favourite characters off cliffs
Stop saying you’ll fix it in ‘what if’.

Strange’s PTSD could not be cured by magic
And yes Clint’s story is tragic,

But that does not excuse his ****** spree.
Why aren’t more characters more like Rhodey?

Maybe try reading the comics your work should be based on
And we’ll try ignoring your obvious *******,  

For self-insert fanfiction with you as the token gay character.
Because representation doesn’t fit your parameter.

For all your stories I have one simple wish;
Stop making us cry over ******* like this.

Not a kiss nor a caress,
not even when you see that I'm a mess.
Crying in the bed,
sleeping on the floor,
begging "I don't want this anymore"
Giving all I have,
giving all I can.
You turned on your back,
you don't even care.

I dyed my hair red

I feel like I'm dead

so much as been said

it's all in my head

My heart feels tight and fast and anxious,
When things are out of my control.
I feel a need to grasp at anything I can,
For when there is no sense of stability or familiarity or predictability,
I feel like everything around me will shatter into a million pieces.
Including me.

*

Maybe it's because I've had to take on this role my whole life,
This role of taking care of everything. Planning, being on time, making sure things line up.
This role that has been the cause of my stress.
Or perhaps it's because things have happened, in my past, that I had no control over.
And now I'm frantically reaching for something, anything, that I can control.

Smoking until struggles fade to black
Leave for awhile but always come back
To the dust collected in my nooks
Heard by crannies between books

I fear none of problems non-existent replies
The gaze from inanimate objects eyes
Control the balance of my silent possessions
They swirl in the wake of my useless expressions

I stand firm amidst the hum of talking nothingness
My hands like swords in my confessed stress
World is small
Yet this planet so large
My fight I falter as troubles barge

No orders conquer my will to go on
Am a survivor of each passing dawn
Home is battlefield in which I slumber
My skills adapt and grow in number

They are put to test by life's curveballs
Believe in what is at the top of these walls
Waving freedom with my face in the mud
Death nobly boiling in my blood

As I try to improve presence bit by bit
Rings distant from where I sit
I continue forth hoping better is what tomorrow will be
No way to tell
I guess I'll have to wait and see