Beautiful Ignorance

The tears are angry.

They rush from my eyes with overwhelming hatred.

And my throat is dry.

How could they do that? 

What could I say? 

To make them hurt

for making me feel this way?

The tears are sad.

They flow with no control over the sobs that accompany.

And my throat is constricted.

How could they do that?

What did I do?

I just want to cry, alone in my room.

The tears are emotion.

Because there's not one to describe how I feel,

When I'm sitting in my room,

Crying over other people.

Are they happy?

I ask myself this.

Because that's all that's ever mattered.

Their happiness. 

But they have no idea.