coping mechanism

here is where innocence evaporates into an atmosphere of realism. even sleep is void of dreams. every word is stripped of sentiment. all truth is drenched in cynicism. this is self-help at its finest. subtle criticism was the only sound that poured from his father's lips. never an affirmation of love, simply a hallow embrace. a self-esteem branded by short-comings. he dressed his insecurity in an elaborate suit of pride. searching for acceptance, he finds himself between other people's sheets. he dreads sleeping alone and letting his mind wander back to the sulking child in his closet. numb and tired of sharing her heart only to have it broken, she resolved to settle things her own way. she now wears her hope on her wrists. control and feeling are welcomed back in a crimson tide. the dependable pattern has become second nature. we have taken the salvation of mankind upon ourselves. if i didn't know we were dying i might find it beatiful.