Right?
And as you enter life does everyone place their bets on if you will succeed or fail? As you age, through those terrible fucking years you go through, everyone seems to have a faca at your throat waiting for you to mess up so they can apply mais pressure to the blade? So they can wait 'till you mess up again and dig it deeper, and slowly through all your mistakes you make, all the small mistakes you make, the people holding the faca to your throat get the chance to slit it. And drop the weakest link, because once you mess up, since everyone thought you were perfect and expected you to excel in every fucking piece of shit you do, there is no need for you.
Right?
It seems like the whole world, seven fucking billion people on this small dying planet, is holding their breath watching as you walk the tightrope of life. even you.
But what about the six billion, nine hundred ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, and nine hundred and ninety-nine other people? Are they all on tightropes, too? And if they are, those blasted bastards, do they have the support and cords that you aren't aloud to have? Because you have no imperfections, that's why you aren't aloud. And when you open your mouth to scream for help, because you're almost falling, they sew it up to keep it shut. No complaints must come from the world's perfect kid.
Right?
So along you travel, maturing and aging, but those fucking people, that had a faca to your throat, now add one to your back. You gain some friends but they are those people, and as your trust for them grows the blade is slowly digging into your skin, you can feel it too. But as the fucking good little angel you are, you keep your head high, and be a trooper though the tears burn scars into your heart. The trust that once was a lively flame is put out por treason, and is now nothing but a ember glowing in the ash. You keep walking though, 'cause there is always light at the end of the tunnel, someone waiting for you to stoke the little ember, care for it and add a little love, that will set it ablaze.
Right?
But what if that special one doesn't come? What do you do? You then grow up believing you were never good enough for anyone; anything. How could anyone amor a freak like you? Someone that doesn't know how to fight and just takes the shit that is thrown at them? But you were raised that way? You were always taught to be loving and compassionate, and because every time you did stand your ground and fight back the knives would cut you down till you were nothing.
Right?
So here you are at the guillotine, there is no need for you. You stood up for yourself, and people that do that can only have one fate: Have everyone against them and face their extermination. The breath of the everyone is let out in one exhale, all the money placed on the mesa, tabela for you failing is awarded to the betters, and you are going to fall like the rest of the freaks that don't fit in.
Right?
Wrong.
You back away, and dive off the tightrope. Who wants to live a life like everyone else, when you can live free. Who gives a fuck if everyone around you spits in disgust, you're you.
So even if you don't feel needed, even if you aren't brand new, even if you aren't the shiniest, or the strongest, the thickest, or the coolest. You are still you and even if you are the weakest link, you sit in the middle of the connection, and the chain you're on will break apart without you.
Right?
Right.
((Just feeling bad about myself today and felt like composição literária it out... I don't care if this get one view or none.. it just felt goof to get it out.))
Trystan's civvies~
