The time for silent beauty has passed,
And smile and wave to all those empty dreams.
Did you think you'd make it past the morning jogs,
Up through the green hills and 'round the bends?
Did you think the sky would come down to meet your face
And kiss your tear-soaked cheeks in gentle melancholy?
Didn't you ever wonder where those days went?
Didn't you ever wonder when things became hard?

Faking seems normal, just at the start.
We hide behind our pretty words in hopes that we'll be seen as that.
Even when we say them aloud, they sound stuffy,
Choking up the room and the air we breathe,
But we persist, convinced that this is our calling.
Simple children, scrambling for attention,
Prey to all those nasty words thought up by elders,
Victims and heroes at once in our own made-up world.

And so what if we know how to describe the pain to perfection?
So what if our words are barely our own,
And snatched from the mouths of others?
Catering to the masses is all we seem to do.
Yes, there's a dark spot deep within,
But enlarging it just for numbers is the same
As a stab-knife right through that hole.
And all we do is mimic until the talented become the fakes.

Phrases like "tear-stained face" and "drawings on my wrists"
Go from shocking to clichéd.
Just children, persisting in this stubborn game.
"Mother and Father hate me so,
I could cry, until I die."
The same nine phrases on repeat and compliments flock to us.
Poor typing, incorrect grammar.
Say one word against the mass and you're a fire. Are you a fire-fighter?

We create complex sentences that sound nice to us.
Tears, broken friendships, hating families, and depression
Suddenly become normal, understandable.
And minor problems inflate into bigger and worse
And the true are overlooked.
The bad is glorified, the good ignored
And suddenly it's two A.M. and someone's reading
The fiftieth identical piece of the day.

Maybe we're lying on our beds,
Waiting for something that's not there.
Mummy and Daddy have left us alone at our screams,
And wanting to complain, we whine.
Or we explain about the greatest love story ever—
Who would have expected that?
But by saying that our lips cough up months of anguish and agony
And our tongues dance in light, we've cured it all.

The sky has turned gray with morning fog
As the sun begins to rise.
Tired beings, all of us—stumbling off to life.
Sitting through morning classes,
Dozing through freshman orientation,
Yawning through the Boss's lecture on third quarter earnings—
Children falling asleep through school,
But wiser than everyone else.

Feet pressing against muddy grounds, you bump into me.
User 517622.
A nameless face, a sexless body, an ageless being,
Standing right before you,
Seeing the clear, smooth skin,
Seeing the simple, normal kid.
Cutting deeper into the vein than anything else,
Your words have come back to haunt you.

Didn't you ever ask yourself who's on the other side?
Who reads empty, soulless words scribbled on crumpled paper?
Who reads blank, dispassionate words typed on the school's computer?
Who is this, behind the white screen? Who is this hypocrite?
"I hope to publish" has become a humiliating phrase,
And why, I wonder, I ask?
Children's words as they fight for a moment's glory.
Ask user 517622.

I'm sure they'll tell you.