The cut that always bleed

I want them to tell their children about us. Make them afraid of what love can do. Make them sit up at night, wide-eyed, whispering our names like a warning. Say-they clawed at each other's throats, they swallowed their own pride until it rotted inside them, they stayed even when it tore them apart. And in the end, love left nothing but wreckage. The unwanted child learns fast— parents are dream-killers dressed as guardians. A father's disappointment cuts deeper than any knife, a mother's indifference is colder than a grave. DNA is just a leash, not a family. Look around— a world full of broken children wearing adult faces, rehearsing adult lives, repeating the same hollow lines their parents did. Go to work. Pay your bills. Swallow your misery. Smile when spoken to. "Act my age?" What the does that mean? I was never a child, never allowed softness, never given time to grow into anything but the mess they made of me. So if I choke on my own choices, if I make mistakes I can't take back, if I love like a sickness, if I break everything I touch- Let them tell their children. Make them afraid of ending up like us.