CW: Heavy Topics

I'm broken. And so is everyone else I'm related to. My father's side is racist and choosy, My grandparents play favourites, My dad is the disappointment, Which means they created its cursed, unfair ways. They're German, so am I. And I'm not proud to say they owned the sky, using bombs and aeroplanes, with triggers and locks. History is hard, World War two is uncomfortable, my ancestors were in it, what they did is insufferable. My mother's side is high and drunk, Everyone is scarred and crazy. They all drive nothing but trucks, And all the girls are sluts. Some are in jail, for rape and murder, It haunts me everyday, I don't tell anyone though, because it's something I shouldn't say. All this past leads back to me. A young girl with PTSD. I've seen drugs, guns, hookers, and death. Something I shouldn't see yet. We've met with Mafia's: Hell's Angel's, and the Chinese. Maybe all of us should just leave. So call me cliché, like a gatcha mini movie, but don't judge, because you don't know me. I've made it through lockdowns, crashes, and fires. And look at me, trapped in the wires.