Ignorance is Beautiful

It seems that I will always be dependable. Reliable. I will always live to serve. My role as an individual is almost unnecessary. The me that hides beneath is mute. Silent. I go through the motions. And sometimes I actually do care. But it's mostly a facade. A distraction. From the truth. From reality. From myself. Your lives and dramas are so much easier to deal with. No emotion required. No self-reflection or motivation needed. Inspiration flown out the window ages ago. Ignorance is a welcomed drug. A wonderful pill to swallow. Unlike the horse-pill that lies around the corner. Waiting to close up my throat. Suffocate my lungs. Empty any stomach-juices left in my body. Leaning over a toilet or any available garbage can.

Ignorance is a beautiful thing. It prevents from mourning a loved one. Erases the pain of seeing the dead. Watching as dirt is dug and one plain box is lowered into the earth. Numb as a life is forever gone. The end. Unconditional love has slipped through your finger tips. Never to exist again. Any possible heartache gone. Holding a mother who cannot stop crying and does not know why. I am not a daughter. I am a mother. A caretaker. A mother to no one. I am not a wife. But somehow I got sucked into that role. Because I live to serve. I sacrificed myself. I was afraid to soar. To fly. I could not let go. I could not feel. I pushed it all under the carpet. I lost me. I have disappeared. And for what. What do I have to show for any of it. Nothing. Nothing.