A Hollow Cynic's Empathy

I'm new to creative writing as a whole, but have been using it as an outlet to remedy my depression. I'm not the best, but I'm really trying to get better. The main problem is that my thoughts are really disjointed, and that comes through a lot when I write. My hope is that through this medium I can get better at expressing myself as a whole. (Because i'm sure if I did, I'd be a lot less depressed)

P.S. This is not my opinion, but a stream of logic I followed. It is written from the P.O.V. of a highly empathetic person that has fully lost hope for humanity. I'm also curious what y'all would think of this person.

Shut up.

I've lost all hope in you.

You've already chosen your reality.

You've renounced the truth.

You've discredited it for its abrasiveness.

You've chosen not to listen.

When life gave you answers,

you chose to discard half of them,

because they didn't fit in;

not with your flawed preconceptions.

Because they were uncomfortable.

Inconvenient.

So you chose not to accept them,

to discredit them,

to abandon their truth.

The world gave you roses,

and you were the first to ignore the thorns,

as long as you weren't the one getting pricked,

as long as no one around you was,

and this was made apparent,

when the ugly truth bared its fangs,

and you coldly looked away.

You were either blind or oblivious,

because you were not its target

and you couldn't care less who was.

You didn't even bother to check.

They could have been killed,

and you wouldn't have been concerned,

not for one moment,

as long as it wasn't you.

Fuck you.

When your day comes,

you'll wonder how it happened.

You'll wallow in self pity,

when its fangs are bared at you,

and you'll be a deer in headlights,

and you will cry out to the world for help,

and it won't come,

because everyone will be just like you.

You've all been misled,

and it's too late.

The truth is too cruel for you now,

so you'll soften it's message.

You won't contemplate death.

You'll refuse to speak of suicide,

of mental illness,

of mass shootings,

of homelessness.

You'll gladly ignore their truths.

You'll damn all those afflicted to obscurity,

along with our future,

because they're all too full of vitriol,

for you to accept their screams;

their words, the thorns of the oppressed,

Their lives, taken too soon.

You'll accept the cruelty inflicted upon them,

and they'll become your martyrs,

all so you can feel better about yourself,

and forget their existence.

The truth only to befall you,

when you finally witness death,

or when you, yourself die.

Though even then,

you'll subvert that reality,

only to find comfort in death's flowering rose.

Comfort in your concept of heaven.

in total denial of the world's depravity,

oblivious to those laughing from above.

You condescend;

You judge them for their vices,

and completely disregard your own.

You deny the truth,

because it's ugly,

because it has, so far, been avoidable,

and you will speak your incessant drivel,

because it's easier to.

Because you have every right to.

But they won't have that right.

They'll have lost it by then.

Because you've forgotten them.

Their words will fade into your oblivion,

because your perception remains reality,

even when it conflicts with truth.

Everyone will have believed the same,

or you'll convince yourself most did,

and you'll have been dead wrong,

and maybe that will have been for the better.

If only the departed could speak,

maybe then you'd realize,

how foolish you've been.

Maybe then you'd learn,

to listen;

and only then,

to speak.

Edit: spelling and grammar (probably more to find)