Every day I walk through halls
full of laughter that isn’t mine.
They talk, they touch, they live
like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I smile at lockers, at walls, at nothing.
I pretend I’m fine.
But inside, something rots.
I hate the sound of happiness
when I’m starving for it.
I hate how easy it looks,
how natural they seem,
like belonging was written into their skin
and erased from mine.
This hate is born from the cruelty of this World .
It’s born from absence.
From empty chairs, unread messages,
from wanting to be chosen
just once.
I do hate NTs.
I hate the distance between us.
I hate watching life happen
from the wrong side of the glass.
They say these are the best years.
If that’s true, why do they feel like survival?
My anger keeps me warm,
but it’s also burning me alive.
Still, beneath it all,
there’s a quieter truth I don’t say out loud:
I want to kill all of them, they deserve it.
ER fuel.
full of laughter that isn’t mine.
They talk, they touch, they live
like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
I smile at lockers, at walls, at nothing.
I pretend I’m fine.
But inside, something rots.
I hate the sound of happiness
when I’m starving for it.
I hate how easy it looks,
how natural they seem,
like belonging was written into their skin
and erased from mine.
This hate is born from the cruelty of this World .
It’s born from absence.
From empty chairs, unread messages,
from wanting to be chosen
just once.
I do hate NTs.
I hate the distance between us.
I hate watching life happen
from the wrong side of the glass.
They say these are the best years.
If that’s true, why do they feel like survival?
My anger keeps me warm,
but it’s also burning me alive.
Still, beneath it all,
there’s a quieter truth I don’t say out loud:
I want to kill all of them, they deserve it.
ER fuel.
