All the people, all the people on the street just want to feel peace in place of their pain that they bear with a weight of a gun to their head, and they share this with people that they hope will care, but hope has died along with the youth of our nation. They all croak at the sun and take heed in the night and suffer from the monsters that lay under their bed at night. The therapists keep telling them it’s all in their heads. Well, I’m going insane. Does this make me a broken angel or a damaged soul that holds a lifeless pulse? I will never know. I think I’m going insane, and all the people keep telling me to let this go. I will never know. Since you’re so smart, can you tell me why I cut my wrists or why I shouldn’t bleed out on the park bench? They can’t understand. They will never understand. But life goes on for some while others keep hoping that their shorter skirts will find them love. And the pastors coax them into feeling alone. And we all go to church to grow closer to God, but walk away feeling unworthy and bitter and hollow. But I guess life goes on.