When people:
cry, they have a reason.
Smoke, a darker moment of treason
Drink, a moment of silence when you can breathe without breathing
Sell, because they feel insecure and worthless
Run and hide, because they are tired of the world we live in
---- Tired of the face smashing, block-minded scrutiny
---- Tired of the fake love, imaginary dream-worlds, closed ears
To buffet them with blames and falsehoods hinders a spirit so that it rust and makes old pieces crumble.
People are these little bodies buried underneath it all.
Strain your ear so it dares to touch the ground and maybe you will hear them.
Maybe you’ll realize as you tug and pull and drag that you were never better off not knowing they were still extant…
… because even though these people:
Don’t cry, it still hurts;
Don’t say it, they still care;
Don’t show it, they still feel.
When people don’t see this, the burial begins.