open

here it is. still. it won’t go away. the wound. it opens less now. I think it festers, always. sometimes it seems better. I rise above; it doesn’t hurt. I can see the future. it is bright and open. I just have to take it. but it won’t stay. it keeps opening.

triggers.

and it opens.

still there. old, very old. all the desperation, desperate moves to get away. then giving up. rat in a cage, being shocked. no escape. just settle down, let it hurt, no escape. and the desperation, you spit on it, you laugh, you sneer. you fucking, fucking assholes. worthless, so much more worthless than what you look down on. born under a wing, knowing nothing, fucking nothing of anything real. run about, buy trinkets, suck each others dicks.

you think you feel real things, so sure of it. sad face, happy face, just faces.

you can’t help not knowing, the wing never knew either, and you, under its shadow, can’t see out. don’t mistake it. but you can’t hear. you will anyway, think you can hear. you can’t hear me tell you that you can’t hear. I wish you could hear that much. so you could know, just a little.