The Sickness We Call Maturity

They tell you not fear change, but how can we deal when things never stand still? Her mind is always spinning, life is unforgiving, one stab after the next. The force sends us flying across the room, a trail of broken darkness in our wake. Why can't I just stay? She screams a cry, shouting hoarse 'OF COURSE!'. Just another day on the dissection tray, the needle stuck scratching it's skippy repeat, being a spectacle for your feat. Look at the innocence run care free, not knowing this illness conceived. Growth is an omission of the truth, hidden from you. Leaving us to cry, every other time we try another hope or dreams dies. What is the point? Don't catch a break, like she caught that ball. One loose screw rattles through the cogs in this machine, slowly breaking clean. What is the point?! Once held true, the line going Northeast from the time we first breathe. Now isn't it funny, there's scholarly proof, time's not linear? Hah! Now the roller coaster ride makes sense! Her stomach is feeling like nonsense, and she's screaming until she cries. One little screw, who knew. Please! Don't undo; I don't like to fly. See here, life as we know it is the sickness we fear. Look around at the bigotry, the blissfully content in low IQ, that color, that name, words spoken in vain, and actions resulting in shame. And so much belief! Belief in that which we cannot see...the imaginary?! Look at the innocence, running carefree; age is a danger, people are all strangers, life exists just to die.

And that line is a lie.