I sit in my room, wondering where to go. Looking at the walls, I stare and stare until I can figure out what to do with my life. I never can. Because I’m trapped in my house of terror, where nothing is comparable to the silence in my own thoughts. When I think about people I love, my love is worthless. My life is worthless. I don’t know what to live for anymore. Anywhere I go is the same bulls*** all over again. Same trapped walls. People always making fun of you. Everywhere you go is no different. So I just stay in desperation, looking for something to do, but I never really do find out. It’s like a scrambled puzzle you have to put together. Life is just like that. Depressed in dark corners of silence, negativity and suicidal thoughts. Bursting tears inside and out. I still speak to be recognized by whom love me still. I know life isn’t fair, but it shouldn’t be bad enough to be crying about others humiliating you. Instead of being so desperate waiting for some superhero to come rescue me. My skin is not letting in happiness but it’s allowing sadness to come right in. There are some who have the illusion of a perfect life but suffer. Then there are some who have a horrible life and live with happiness.