Nothing hurts more than being cut off from something, whatever it may be.
Be it from family, for in some ways, they just don’t understand you.
Friends come and go, as breathing, as they see something in you, they don’t like.
Could even be something of pure passion, and being cut off, for they don’t see dollars.
The words, cut off, alone mean you; I; a random stranger lack something.
We lack what it takes to become part of something.
And if we don’t meet up to those standers, it’s off with out heads.
No voice of reason to give us answers as to why that is.
No warning when all the work that has been done is gone with a simple click.
No where to go, when everything else is the same or becoming the same.
That stander is what is holding us back from being something.
From being happy.
From staying off the streets, being homeless, and never being loved in some way.
For that stander marks anyone as getting somewhere.
World must come to relies, that not everything is forever, and not everyone likes the same thing.
Cutting off new looks and new faces, leave those who are left to try harder, breaking them.
Breaking them into a bony mess.
As content means nothing, numbers are everything.
Time to wake up, get back on that horse, and relies cutting off everything around oneself.
Does little in staying alive.
The more times something is being cut off, a number drops, and what is left is triering.
New face and new chances, give others what they need.
Cutting them off, as to say, they’ll never be good as blank.
For the rules that are given, only go to those of lower ranks, of those damn numbers.
Equalness has been toss aside, for the numbers are looking good.
Looking good, but for what?
Whatever is left in world, that has not been cut off, what is left . . . when they leave.
They can’t stay forever?
Nor live that long or find someone as good as them.
For there is only one of them.
And one of them can only have so many numbers, for there has to be variety.
Variety makes everyone happy.
Equal openness if you will.
Numbers can only go so far.
Content makes memories.
Don’t cut off others, for if only the reason, one wants to be remember as for numbers.
Not a fond memory if you ask me.
If someone was cut me off, for the lack of numbers, and need to be gone.
For someone is far better it at me, for their numbers are good?
How does that come across from another’s point of view, if they don’t agree with that choice?
And one does not care, for the numbers are good.
The only lack there is in this world, is chance, equalness, and fucking love.
Do you get the picture?
Or does a slap in the face make it understandable for someone, as you, internet?
You have this chance to have people like you, but something is blinding you, seek help.
Or the next time something happens . . . the one thing being cut off . . . is you.
And will you do when those numbers fade?

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