Webster forgot

They dropped like flies
Like flies over a 3 day old cadaver in sunlight
She cried like a baby
Curled up on her unmade mattress and clenched a pillow tight just looking for answers
Answers her past nor future would ever uncover for her
Answers she still hasn't found, and the plot thickens, and it makes less and less sense every day
Why, when, where, what, how, but mostly why
Why things happen in order and repetition
Why she feels like she's faking and why she has the ability to sense how everyone else is too
No man or woman or therapy session can give her comfort
Like the comfort she gets from seeing life being given and taken away all around her
No jewelry or money or holy book can give her comfort
Like the comfort she gets from knowing that humans are the same as animals
We are all weak, we are all making up excuses and trying to find something to keep us occupied and get us paid in money or love
We are all waiting
Putting labels on every small insignificant little thing, in attempt to make it real and meaningful, so that someone somewhere will appreciate it and pursue it, getting them sidetrack from remembering that we are all waiting to die
We have so much free time and, what to do with it, but fall in love and have children, earn jobs and homes and get pets and give our lives meaning while we wait to die
We will go to a church and sit on a bench and listen to a man give sermons so he can collect our money and make us feel like we have something to look forward to while we wait
I am bored, I am tired of waiting
But I refuse to give in, because I know what so many people neglect to acknowledge and understand
We are waiting around to die and we are looking for answers, like the little girl in her shattered home, or the chubby boy in his mansion
Whether you realize it or not, all men are not created equal, and they never have been, and they never will be
But once in a dream, I risked my life to save an animal
Once in a dream, I placed my poor, unkempt hair on the satin of a rich man's pillow
Who is to say that we deserve better, if we deserve anything at all
If being born entitles us to deserving good things, then why do we work for money?
She is still in her room, laying on that mattress, searching through every figment in her mind, for some answers
Only now, she has met a boy, who although cannot answer her questions, can provide her comfort and solace, and he has distracted her, so she doesn't always think about how she's waiting to die
That's what real happiness is