Dear Mr. Rogers

Dear Mr. Rogers,

What happened to the so called imagination land you told me about in my childhood? Did it die when you did? Did the world suddenly turn over and start turning on one another because they realized the world wasn't the way you painted in our heads as children? I sit here thinking of how you told me everything is saved from a simple smile and a friend who is always at my side. I sat as a kin believing all of your words and never thought I would contemplate suicide when I grew up. I always wanted to become a helper for everyone but I just can't bring myself to help when no one was willing to help me. Why does the human race believe such things Mr. Rogers? I just want to be a great man and turn around and pay it forward. Why can't you be alive to see all this destruction? I wish upon this earth someone could explain the mundane fields that they bestow upon one another. I watched you religiously as I was apart of you and now I seem to be wanting to conform to the daemons that reside in myself. You taught me that anger is easily to get rid of, but how come I seem to always want to cause pain to others? So Mr. Rogers, I dream of a better tomorrow and a closer today and a great year. I am now dependent on things you told me we're a wrong idea to get into. Please release these pains and struggles to this man and return from your grave. I bottle up this rage just to please the crowds of Neanderthals that you never taught me that most just throw you to the side when you try to show compassion.

Well Mr. Rogers, I wish sometimes life could be a better person and help others. Now I seem too far of a lost cause to do so, please forgive me for my childhood is gone and now this beast is me. Mr. Rogers, thank you for for what you could help me with, but today is not the same as you painted in my imagination.

Thank you,

Steven