Maybe when I’m older it will hurt a little less
The pain you receive from feeling
When I’m happy I’m sad because
I realise the happiness won’t last forever

And I always feel bad because happiness is so subjective
I’m sad because I can’t see my friends
Some kids are sad because they’re starving

I don’t cry anymore
Because if I start crying I know I’ll never stop
Sad, right?

I’ve got him
But he’s not enough sometimes
To distract me
It’s an ever-going saga.
I can never quit

My sadness started when I was 12
On a bridge
I didn't know him
He was Middle aged
Grabbed me
Groped me
12
My first 'Adult Problem'

Pay the price.
Close your eyes.
Stop the death.
Make a breath.
You’re alive
Enjoy your life.

You can take something,
but can you take nothing?
You can take their life,
but can you take their soul?
You hit alright,
but can you hit no more?
You can start,
but can you stop?
You can stop.
You can stop.

Quitting Is no easy job.
Packs of 20 get thrown away,
At least 5 times before the words
‘I’m done’
Can be released for your mouth to say.

So what’s your burden?
A traumatic incident formed from a full grown man, a child and some ****?
A mountain of reading, endless literature to form your statements into ones that are good?
Or is it an occupation?
One that you’re punishing yourself with, as a realisation from all of your revelations?

Burning sticks only point to one truth,
That you need more in your life to do.
Rather than let burning sticks do what they do best,
Fill your lungs with so much mud,
Air no longer passes through your chest.

But maybe it isn’t a burden.
Maybe it’s simply a yearning,
For you to finally feel something,
To give yourself an experience that reminds you of loving,
Or hating.

The game ends anyways so it’s alright.
Burning sticks may go out but you can always relight.
You may burn your lungs until you delight,
But just know that at the end of the day,
This is your own fight.