I sit silently, waiting for an answer that spills out of their mouths like acid.
Burning my eyes, giving me prepossessed view of my decaying soul.
Where are their alert minds when substances arrest their ability to maintain controlled and comforting thoughts?
Do we, as teenagers find insanity beautiful?
As beautiful as a raging flame, and the sounds of defiant screams blasting contentment through an apprehensive mind?
A frequency of family affairs, unforgettable failures and the inability to censor our own lives makes insanity an imperfect perfection.
The only happiness and comfort turned to, when our parents are off climbing the ladder of authority at work or just fucking off, not realizing the fortune they have at home is rotting from the inside out.
Everyday your a little more alone, apathy increased, enabling thoughts of more insanity to cross our minds a little more predominantly.
But where are our friends?
Are they slouching beside you, eyes glazed over lost in an ambivalence of themselves? Or are they standing abruptly in your path to destruction?
Defying you anymore harm unto your withered soul?
What if no one stands in our degenerate paths? Where will we know to stop, or will these monster friends gnaw and pick at our brains like a crew of ravenous ravens?
It’s all a vicious cycle of pain and angst. If a friend asked, would you be the scissors to cut this endless cycle of pain, no matter what?
Or are you the one in need of dire help?