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| From What the eyes cannot see |
Is like torture but has twice the inner pain
It’s like being thirsty in the middle of the ocean
Or a mirage of an oasis after walking for miles in the dessert
This kills you more inside; it breaks and shreds your morale
Makes you hate every waking hour, dreading for another day
Hours pass by with pure distaste
Destruction of oneself with each rigor
As you struggle to stay afloat, you find it easier to let go
Similar to an ailing old man and his illness
To set free the soul that has been through such atrocities
Atrocities of all human transgressions against another
Taking every breath and every ounce of your energy
Apathy settles comfortably when the world starts to cave in
Whether it’s caused by sickness of the mind or a lack of fire in the heart
Losing battles will always end up with your spirit being whisked away
Persecution belongs to the many, but only a few are in this predicament
Who is more guilty and who should be crucified?
Would past mistakes beget future mistakes?
Do we not learn from our experiences and move on.
Or do we sit in our own shit and not know it?
Or do we like it like that, warm and clammy?
To persecute is easy, as easy as easy can be
But to be on the other side, it’s a losing game
Trudging through moments with a ball and chain
