When I was eight I created an imaginary world that I lived in.
It made me happy.
It protected me from the ghouls and vampires that sucked the happiness and life out of me,
the ones who would call us names and tell us we were nothing.
Nothing. What is nothing?
Nothing is a word with which we fill our own minds
to tell ourselves that it will go away
Eventually.
Nothing is a disguise of what's really in front of us.
Nothing is the half empty bottle of excuses we open for ourselves when we ask ourselves what's really wrong.
How many times do we say that word per day?
When we are pushed around and let down
back down the same road of sorrow you travel day after day.
How can we cover the self-loathing any longer?
We are told to keep our mouths shut but told to speak up when silent
We are told that sticks and stones may break our bones but words can never hurt us
but how on earth do we overcome the burning of the liquor down our throats at just 16?
Our lives are masterpieces slowly designed
and sometimes the outlines aren't as good as the others
but what we have is all we've got.
Escaping reality is just another past time of what we call nothing.
