You feel too much, young girl.
Nobody ever fathoms the shallow sense of emotion you have.
They all look at you with amusement and pity;
whoever notices seems apathetic anyway.
You are in your self destruct mode,
please do not go haywire there.
Because they will not care
or will be too busy to even see.
You are not alone, young girl,
but others are hard to find.
They crawl beneath their own skins,
screaming in shades of fervor and anguish
to satisfy the guilt of being alive.
You see, others don’t listen.
Even if their tear-filled eyes will continue to glisten,
just like you, they will retreat in their shells.
Stop asking why, young girl.
They do not feel what you feel because you are special,
and you deserve to be punished
for being who you are.
Yes, they see that rope too.
Don’t be afraid to wear it,
no one will ever notice even a bit
of how swiftly this will go.
Alas, they will now be asking questions, young girl.
And then they will suddenly care.
And then blame themselves for not realizing
how you were so different
They will put on their plastic frowns—
the same ones they wear twice a week.
Time will pass, enough to know
that time itself provoked your will to grow.
They will visit and grieve
but it will be too late.
You once tugged your mother
at the hem
and you feel nothing now, you’re just like them.
Aren’t they proud?