What is with the wet tissues on my lap?

Mocking my tears,

Seering my imperfections into my mind.

Like a knife lodged in my skull,

I am obscurely sad—

Shattered by the world—

And by myself.

Hell has enraptured me.

I’m only sixteen,

Afraid of dying,

And lying limp in the expanse of nothingness after life.

Maybe strife will subside,

But what will matter by then?

Am I just subjected to placid non-existence,

Where resistance and rebellion won’t hold any stake

Or make a difference?

Will I be trapped?

I’m already trapped.

Attacked 

By society

And betrayal,

The Holy Grail can’t even save me.

It is plain to see that nothing can,

And nothing will,

But even still,

I wipe my tears away and throw out my tissues.