Lost and Dying (Still in Progress)

     I had a friend once who was sweeter than any person that I'd ever known. He was quiet in a way that was bit abnormal, or at least at the time it seemed that way. But eventually, me and this other girl got him to talk more and more, and with each day he began to open up more and more. I don't know . . . It's something that just won't leave me . . . I've lost many friends as is understandable in life . . . but he I cannot forget. Because it, it seems so sinister . . . Something that sends chills down my spine. He was a quiet boy as I relayed earlier. Clean cut, with his hair to the side and glasses, neat clothes . . . I don't know what it is but the image is like engraved in my mind and I remember. Sometimes I wonder if anybody else remembers. If anybody sees what I see.
     As I, and my friend were opening him up, so were other children. Telling him to do this with his hair, and that with his glasses, and this with his clothes . . . Thing is, is that in a year he was unrecognizable . . . He was completely transformed. He was no longer himself, no longer innocence.
Later, two years or so, same children telling him to do this and that led him off the path and on to their crooked ones. He struggles with drugs today, sexuality and other issues. Same as other friends of mine, but . . . I don't know, he just stays in my mind . . .

     I have another friend. One that is very dear to my heart. I've never really cared for anyone. I don't even care for myself. Or maybe it's just that my emotions I never let myself feel, and therefore I am unaware of their existence. But she to was one of the sweetest people I had ever known. But it seems this world, neglect, and time has turned her into a lost soul more desolate than those almost in third world countries similar to my other friend . . . I see her everyday . . . But somehow I have lost the will or the desire to speak up. The voice that I speak without delay in other situations but with her it seems lost in my throat, my thoughts. She has not a father that pays her attention, so she searches for it among boys. She has nothing to go home to, so she stays out all night. And she has anger that was never dealt with, so she spurs out perverse language gaining her the reputation of a hoe. Only thing is, is that this title that hangs about her head she does not see . . . Only others . . .
     But I see her everyday.

     Time . . . Lost . . . Souls . . . My friends. But how many others are there. And those who seem to have it together, even they in their own worlds hold struggles unseen and unwanted. But when we see them, why is it that we turn our head and look in the other direction. Talk about them when their gone and say muffled, 'I pray for her . . . him'

    

 'If everyone cared and nobody cried, if everyone loved and nobody lied, if everyone shared and swallowed their pride, then we'd see the day when nobody died . . .' Nickelback