Why?

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Why?
Why is it we don’t see the signs
of the willingness to die?
Why is it we don’t give compassion
to those who deserve our passion?
Why is it we avoid the things
that hide quietly in our mind’s wings?
How is it that we are put in a place where discomfort
that holds our words hostage?
A place where systems of sadness and overhanging malicious intent
is allowed to grow like black mold?
So deadly to those exposed to it yet,
not annihilated by those who know it exists?
Why is it life has become so bad that suicide is the option?
That it is casually thrown to the wind like laughter at a vibrant party?
What has driven us all to the point where we may not try to kill ourselves,
but we won’t move if the train is coming straight at us?

How is it we’ve become so numb to our own suffering, that we ignore that of others?

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