You are lucky.
Born under a lucky star, the Fentanyl didn't steal your breath.
The system's maw missed you, and your sharp mind bloomed despite the odds.
But even brilliance can't outrun bad luck. You cling to the naive hope of freeing everyone, oblivious to the invisible bars around your own youth.
Tiny hands can't break the chains, hide the needles, or shield every blow. It's a fool's errand, carrying water to a parched wasteland.
But you. You dream of escape. A life bathed in normalcy, happiness – freedom.
You don't feel the phantom claws sinking into your spirit, not until the first crimson trails them, a stark reminder of the unseen wounds.
This you can't accept – the inevitability of it all, etched in stone before your first breath. Yet, youth grants you a fragile hope of liberation.
The physical constraints will crumble, leaving only dust. Dust that offers no solace, no matter how you plead.
Words fail to capture the wreckage within. Every boy you yearn for reflects your father's ghost. Shame clouds your reflection, a constant companion. The dread, a relentless serpent coiling around your spine.
Then there's her – your beacon, your sanctuary, your salvation.
But beware, for she will inflict the deepest wound. Her reassurances, a seductive balm you desperately crave. A chance to rewrite the narrative, to prove them wrong. Do they even have a single soul like her?
You cling to the delusion that she wouldn't abandon you in the wreckage.
You pretend to understand love, a foreign concept in your world. She embodies everything you can never possess.
But a horrifying truth dawns – her love is a mirage. She cannot erase the past, offer the validation you crave, the whispered pride of a mother for her daughter. A daughter like you?
The thought of sullying her world with your pain is unbearable. Yet, leaving her tears you another burden to shoulder.
Shame, a clinging fog. You see the flicker of past love in their eyes – a love for the ambitious child, brimming with potential.
Is this worse than the abyss of being unseen? A beacon reduced to a dying ember.
Perhaps serving them in memory is the only mercy – shielding them from the wreckage you've become.
