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I smile, it seems that all people can do is frown. The sun shines so pretty on others. For me, it just was made to burn my eyes. Jesus is busy with everyone else. I think he doesn't care about me anymore or may have ever existed. Maybe even made up by my parents to make me happy.
But I don't wanna live like my ex boyfriend.
I don't wanna change for people to like me.
But I don't wanna live like ex friend.
I don't wanna pretend everything's alright.
It seems I've been working so hard. They all say a piece of candy will shut me up. When it's not what I wanted. I just want to live happy. A slap across my face will make me not to do it again. That's what they say. It simply makes me want to cry or fight back.
But I don't wanna live like my mother.
I don't wanna fake happiness.
But I don't wanna live like my father.
I don't wanna be angry all the time.
When it's time to have kids, I'll be real to them. 'Cause I don't want them to be hurt by stupid teachers. I want them to be happy, and not hate me. And I don't want to think twice. And if I do, I'll end up asking myself questions, with vodka bottles spinning around my floors. As my children say "Mommy!" And everytime they say it, they'll act the same. Tears of hate and dissapointment in their eyes.
I guess I am just a body and a voice. All I ever was. I suppose all these emotions were made up to make me live on. I guess they just want more humans to question this. More humans to kill the world. They want us to kill ourselves. And I'm the only one that seems to know this.
They say
"Hey hey hey! Do drugs! Cut yourself! Hang yourself! Have fake feelings!"
And the very first rule they made, which we all obey.
"Tell someone you love them! Fall deeply in love! Hurt yourself from heartbreak! Cut yourself! Sob for days! Olay olay olay!"
Their laughing, can't you hear? Oh please, am I the only one that does! Somebody made us just to laugh at our pain. Since they were hurt by these things made up for us. Somebody shake me from this nightmare.
Or is waking up from a dream fake too? Are our lives in books? Are people reading my life? Are their cameras everywhere I walk? Is there just something I didn't get?
This all was made up for me. Maybe I was made up in a little kid's imagination. I probably don't even exist. I don't know, it's all made up, there's no point to the end. The end is death. Your gone. Don't be scared of it. If we lived after death the pain would be twice as worse. And maybe that somebody thought it was the right thing.
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