happiness

Blood and murder and starving people.

An orange man on his self built pedestal.

It is on the breaking backs of suffering Americans that he stands.

You were supposed to be different.

The one that I didn’t have to give up on.

Someone that I could rely on.

But I turned my back and you chose her.

She who wounded me with words and threatened to do worse.

Cursed.

Am I cursed?

Cursed to tie myself to people, swearing that they’re going to be different.

Only for resentment to grow like ivy, sentencing me to a place of discontent.

I’ve called it paranoia.