To be guilty
Is to be ill received
To struggle within
Is that of its own effort in futility
For just as a new day dawns
Illuminates the coming of day
So is the begging of the coming dissolution
So is the inevitable distaste
Like the man at the edge of street
Sitting in the glow of artificial light
However hollowed a reality received
The weight pressed within one’s mind
It was in this worldly injustice
Founded upon the breaking of ones will
Yet in this subjective sense it seemingly shatters
While the rest remains ever still