What am I doing?
Hating on life that I have pushed away.
It's an ungrateful tantrum, my wrath
is based on those who had once given me comfort.
Could it be that I am greedy?
But I suppose happiness was never
a real situation,
something that I have only tasted by
the tips of my tongue
and by the stroke of my cold fingers
I am trapped
by choice and miserable thoughts,
by ignorance, but I stayed nonetheless
because maybe pain is the only
feeling embedded in
my cells
This is no contest,
to blessed fools, it might be.
something that could bring pride,
a sense of pain seeping in
one's soul
But it's a plague to those who suffers,
to those who were made
by tears and curses and farewell
to these hearts
barely attached, human;
Humanity is a lie,
made by happy people
given to sad people,
wrapped with kind words and
paper thin empathy
No one is at fault,
but idiocracy is unforgiven
and ignorance is a bliss to those
without sense
without tears.
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