Mike from Syracuse wrote
When will it get better? When I was a boy, there were moments of joy, when the world stayed a glorious gem. But that quickly went wrong, and the happiness is gone, and I'm drawn to entomb it in pen. A brother of mine was a monstrous bully who ate at my self esteem every day. My mentor, a priest, told me "be at peace," I would be grow big, and no longer be prey. When picked on I'd beg to God for fair weather, Like David with Goliath, to make me strong make me better. I dreamt of a black belt someday on my waist, but I'm not, even now, and I feel disgraced. I'd kneel at my bed as my eyes would get wetter, and I'd pray to the lord, "When will it get better?" I had another brother who was very kind, but a disease over took him and ate at his mind, and he died a suffering death. Soon after that, my parents had a spat, and the stale air in the house took my breath. They yelled, and they fought, and my father was rought, and with me he seemed always upset. I hated that house, and I wanted out, but it was a wish I never could get. So I went to my room, with my heart filled with gloom, I curled up with my dog, and I pet her. And I'd talk just to her , for I had noone else, and I'd say, "when will it get better?" My mentor the priest assured me it couldn’t get worse. Saying "It's uphill from now on!" and quoting me verse. In Senior high school, I had no friends and was filled with such doubt, and my first year of college I completely failed out. That same year I cried, cuz that mentor he died, instead of my studies I thought suicide. That began a decade of minimum wage of nickel and dime, and never getting ahead. I was wasting my life and was losing my mind, and just wanted to escape in my bed. In my American dreams, I'd have a house, self esteem, as for my wife, I'd had already met her. But when I awoke, I felt like dope, and would say, "When will it ever get better?" I went out to L.A. to make it in film not once, but twice. I failed with no one to blame, having played the game, having rolled the dice. Back to minimum wage, Life goes on, turn the page. I tried the postal exam and to be a cop, but I couldn't pass, does the failure ever stop? A detective, Travel Agent, A bartender too. It seemed there was nothing that I could do. And all the while, time passed me by. My peers from high school, were all married with wife's. Even my youngest sister, had that kind of life. A scrapbook of memories and friends that she kept, but I had nothing not even my pet. My dog had died and without the ability to pet her, I curled up in my room and wondered "When will it get better?" I'm 39 years old now, my dreams are all shattered. My self esteem and confidence are bruised and battered. Like when I was a teen, I still make minimum wage. No house, I'm still single, and filled with such rage. Every dream, every hope, nothing has come true. Even the chemical in my head have gone all poo poo. I've tried positive thinking, but I cannot be happy. I've tried prayer and Jesus, but the response seems so crappie. I'm empty, I feel stupid, and useless and blue. My life has no meaning, but what can I do? I sit down, and I write God a long lengthy letter, and I ask him, Dear lord, "When will it get better?" Will I have to die before my dreams can come true? Will I make it to heaven? Or fail at that one too? Will I end up in hell suffering in the eternal lake of fire? Will I never see joy? Will I be lost in the mire? And a chilling fear comes to my mind, It's a vision of God's answer for the whole of all time. When I ask him from the fires, "When will it get better?", he smirks, and he says, "The answer is Never."
evil
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