Your problem is not my problem.
Your pain is not my pain.
Still, your corruption only spreads sloppy lies,
To keep the truth that you only seek to hide,
By being unholy and raw.
Oh to be like you, engulfed with sin;
Eager to bloom.
Prepared to blossom into something you wish to be.
Ready to leap, frolic, and seethe.
Ambitious to dance on the young we birth.
What is all of this?
A plan to push the ache?
To self project your rot?
How did you slip through the cracks?
And what caused you to break?
When did we breed such monstrosity?
Where did we go wrong?
Is that vengeance so sweet,
You require blood to quench a thirst so irate?
Feasting upon a liquid so pure.
The ties to evil overtook you.
Feeding on the host that you’ve matured to be,
Cultured into a puppet and trained to feed the plague.
Was this behavior innate?
Or were you an heir raised to hate?
I see your masquerade,
But you remain to deny.
You cast a wall to hide your truth
To show the world wrongful fate,
Yet the boundary stays weak.
Do you grip your pride
In fear of loss or does instinct become embraced?
Grasping what you feel to be right.
Cradling it so dear to your heart.
Truly fighting all to defy your cry.
Serrations lie across you,
Marks that strangle with heat.
If you ever heal,
The tattered skin may scar,
But your insides will remain to bleed.
You wish to give your misery,
The soreness caused by strain.
Passing on what you fail to tolerate.
Giving the fire which engulfed you,
Just to flood the doors of man.
Your hate brings the world down.
How exhausting it must be.
Your fruitless labors bring nothing,
Except tortuous solitude upon oneself.
All to disguise what you feel:
Pain.