Marshall

His face is drawn, cheeks hallowed out from years of hunger and suffering, his eyes, which were once soft and innocent, have long ago lost their luster for life and love for anything. His body pulses with muscle and anger, dyed hair hidden with a hat or gleaming in the sunlight, as he sings and yells about everything wrong with the world. I wonder, has anyone ever seen him smile? This man's mouth seems to be frozen into a frown, even when everyone else is smiling and laughing, he seems to fade into the background, as if he prefers it this way, as if he doesn't ever want to talk to someone. How can it be that the whole world knows his name, but he seems so lonely? He has everything this world says he needs, but I don't ever want to end up like him, miserable and alone, bitter and always wanting. His own daughters are all that he loves in this life, and nothing and no one else. Because all the money in the world can't buy happiness, no matter what they say. A dozen f words scatter across each song he produces, and each one only comes out angrier than the last. Will it ever get any better for him? I pray for him. Even though my opinion will never matter to this man, who seems to have everything, yet acts as though he has nothing. No matter how much influence I end up amassing, it will probably never compare to all he has built up in the years since his first words were heard. I pray someday his eyes will be opened, because he can gain the whole world, but if he loses his soul, he will die with the rest.

Good Enough

Your eyes tell of pain as they fill up with tears of cold liquid, falling like crystals to the ground. It seems as though no one can relate to you, as if everything you've been through has been so terrible, you've been alone for so long... this feeling, this awful feeling filling up your very being, making you nauseous, vomiting until there is nothing left to get rid of. Now everything is gone, black, gone and never present. This is madness, trying to be perfect, doing everything you can think of to be good enough for... someone. Everyone. Anyone. But nothing you do is good enough. So tired of hunger constantly gnawing at your insides, puking and running, and trying to forget... But nothing works. You have become desperate, will do anything to change, to be someone else, but no matter what, you will always be you. Even if you hate every second of it, nothing will change. Giving up, fainting, falling, waiting for someone to come and save you. But no one comes. Waiting, watching, but no one ever comes. You are forced to come back up, climbing, slowly, painfully, grudgingly, because inside you truly just want to give up. Because the pain has become too much, and you can no longer take it. The festering wound that eats your insides and rakes at your mind, that erupts in your soul and breaks apart your heart, it won't go away. Is this your fault? You ask. The answer to this question, it seems, everyone else knows, but not you. Yet it never goes away, this bleeding wound, overflowing organs with pulsating blood growing up hatred in your heart. You go to school, but it seems no one knows u exist, despite all your efforts to be seen, to be heard, to be noticed, by someone, anyone. But no one ever sees you, and all the pain that is waiting to burst out, and one day, you know, you will snap. Maybe then people will see you, what is left to be seen, but it will only be remnants of a person, carried away like dust in the wind. Darkness surrounds and shrouds, covering, overwhelming what little light you have let in. It will come soon, the end, you hope. But it doesn't, just as no one notices you, and all the suffering searing and tearing, burning and biting, clawing and choking. Night seems ever present, and it won't leave, for you soul is now used to this darkness, perhaps your soul itself is now black and dead, the way you feel inside. Is there any hope? You ask. The answer to this even I do not know.