It’s so easy to become the thing you hate.
Believe me when I say it’s a mistake.
There’s only so much pain this world can take,
before it breaks.
I left my heart and soul out in the rain,
hoping they be washed clean again,
but blood survives just fine as a stain;
all the hurt we cause will still remain.
Brother will turn against brother
and daughter will hate on her mother
and son, he will murder the father,
as we smell the blood in the water.
The cycle will spin and accelerate.
We all love sin.
We all love hate.
The end is coming
and we can’t wait.
We’ve stained our Sunday best.
No one is left,
to hear us confess.
Just infinite, endless distress.
Wasn’t it better before?
We asked for a war.
Such little things in the universe we are.
Just dust amongst the dust,
at least so far;
we’ve managed to
not burn down our only home.
We like to play with fire
and we’ve been left alone.
On the edge of it,
you can watch it burn.
From a distance
I can just make out
that look of false concern;
as you waddle back to bed
and say a prayer
and pretend that there are no wolves out there.
It must be nice
to not be scared.
HG – 2016
