To Hold It Together
As of late, there have been only three people with whom I've been speaking on a regular basis- and they won't even know that I'm talking about them, given that my definition of a 'regular basis' is so warped that it's more comparable to the generally-accepted 'infrequently.'
It's difficult to even so much as begin to comprehend how I've survived for this long with so little direct human interaction. The three people who I've seen most frequently are the three people who I don't want a single thing to do with- the members of this dysfunctional unit that some people would be naive enough to refer to as a family. I was robbed from my home for reasons which quickly became the iron shackles I knew they were, ripped from my life on the most destructive of whims, and now it's become a virtual necessity for me to reclaim myself from the flames wrought by my guardians' idiocy- I must work to recover what was purposelessly stolen from me, unaided by the hands that twisted my life into this damnable hell.
Where do I go from here? I can't very much stay here; I can't exist in a world that doesn't experience a shift in season. I tried it once, and I found myself losing what fragments of my mind I had left to cling to. But I can't go home either; I can't hold myself together long enough to find work to save up for a ticket, and my parents are financially useless- I don't think the shards of their broken promises, nor the memories of their fulfilled lies, would afford me transit.
I'll escape to my uselessness, postponing my necessity to acknowledge my technical death, silently awaiting the impossible inevitability that some benevolent force chooses to smile upon my corner of oblivion.
It's difficult to even so much as begin to comprehend how I've survived for this long with so little direct human interaction. The three people who I've seen most frequently are the three people who I don't want a single thing to do with- the members of this dysfunctional unit that some people would be naive enough to refer to as a family. I was robbed from my home for reasons which quickly became the iron shackles I knew they were, ripped from my life on the most destructive of whims, and now it's become a virtual necessity for me to reclaim myself from the flames wrought by my guardians' idiocy- I must work to recover what was purposelessly stolen from me, unaided by the hands that twisted my life into this damnable hell.
Where do I go from here? I can't very much stay here; I can't exist in a world that doesn't experience a shift in season. I tried it once, and I found myself losing what fragments of my mind I had left to cling to. But I can't go home either; I can't hold myself together long enough to find work to save up for a ticket, and my parents are financially useless- I don't think the shards of their broken promises, nor the memories of their fulfilled lies, would afford me transit.
I'll escape to my uselessness, postponing my necessity to acknowledge my technical death, silently awaiting the impossible inevitability that some benevolent force chooses to smile upon my corner of oblivion.