Someone told me,
“It gets better!”
That statement, uttered carelessly,
lacks a distinct element: truth.
What they should have said was,
“It gets easier —
to lie,
to give up,
to understand pain.”
But honesty is in short supply.
It doesn’t get better
because the outside remains
an intrinsic part of the equation.
Life is limbo,
constant pressure, bent
over backwards, watching
people scoff with each
passing moment you remain.
What changes is our ability
to fool ourselves
into thinking this position
is comfortable. Our brains lie
to us; we lie, in turn,
to our corporeal companions.
We save the truth for ghosts.
Those of our past, of our future,
and we slog
onward; toward an end,
any end. Toward the whispers,
the promises spoken–
hopes, desires, better.