I'm mad.

I'm mad I can't express myself without the fear of being judged to the point of a breakdown.

I'm mad I can't be with you and your whole existence I call perfection without being looked down upon and shamed.

I'm mad that 'us' will never exist.

I'm just mad...

the unexpressed ideas are always lingering.

I refuse to be a statistic.

Life is an exile, a journey to a nonexsistent home

the night sky just isn't the same anymore.