There goes a heavy mind, of speaking such
a mind— which I try to do.
And its hard to admit sometimes the crack of a smile
cuts through my skin, just a few.
On the lines of lies; the straight answer sounds so crooked,
As the itch of resolve, comes from a different view, when most
of the actions seem so confused,
—used, abused, and concluded as making a lack of effort.
Oppressed, in such a depressed action; pressed out of
maturity’s wine— blood red of repentance.
I’ve failed, and have failed people; also the latter, people have
failed and have failed me also, now having to come to
terms with the fact with great acceptance.
Enduring the plank within a jealous eye;
a speck of envy entails the nonstop question of, __“why,”__
—the yearning for such possessions had possessed me
to speak upon another person, with such evil.
Even if I had more than what they have, it would all feel
trivial, as what is considered important by people.
Some tears at times do feel milked, that they have stained
my face with a façade of innocence.
Oftentimes, my mind comes with equal amounts of
guilt, through its own filth.
Walking with eyes focused on every step, to avoid a
reflection of themselves in the gazes of the sun,
Still the reflection displays my darkness,
as a shadow of secrets, pressed onto the ground.
For what man so desperately tries to hide, is always found out,
And what they’re not proud of, becomes the pride of the
overestimation of their lies, that have them bound.
Oh, how tall life is, and we’d fall so short of it.
Our words of praise, are as sweet as *****
Revolting; sickening acts that say,
“Buying into the world is more important,”
Despite what the end will be, when a ticket into Heaven,
isn’t close to a cost’s fit.
May 3, 2024
May 3, 2024 at 3:21 PM UTC
There goes a heavy mind, of speaking such
a mind— which I try to do.
And its hard to admit sometimes the crack of a smile
cuts through my skin, just a few.
On the lines of lies; the straight answer sounds so crooked,
As the itch of resolve, comes from a different view, when most
of the actions seem so confused,
—used, abused, and concluded as making a lack of effort.
Oppressed, in such a depressed action; pressed out of
maturity’s wine— blood red of repentance.
I’ve failed, and have failed people; also the latter, people have
failed and have failed me also, now having to come to
terms with the fact with great acceptance.
Enduring the plank within a jealous eye;
a speck of envy entails the nonstop question of, __“why,”__
—the yearning for such possessions had possessed me
to speak upon another person, with such evil.
Even if I had more than what they have, it would all feel
trivial, as what is considered important by people.
Some tears at times do feel milked, that they have stained
my face with a façade of innocence.
Oftentimes, my mind comes with equal amounts of
guilt, through its own filth.
Walking with eyes focused on every step, to avoid a
reflection of themselves in the gazes of the sun,
Still the reflection displays my darkness,
as a shadow of secrets, pressed onto the ground.
For what man so desperately tries to hide, is always found out,
And what they’re not proud of, becomes the pride of the
overestimation of their lies, that have them bound.
Oh, how tall life is, and we’d fall so short of it.
Our words of praise, are as sweet as *****
Revolting; sickening acts that say,
“Buying into the world is more important,”
Despite what the end will be, when a ticket into Heaven,
isn’t close to a cost’s fit.
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