The present offers me cans. The future, wills
While the past gave me should haves and plastic pills
Disappointment, nausea, and painful feels.
A bloody war between vengeance and humility
Wages on in my heart with a hair-raising plea
There are no winners. The loser is me, but they don’t see.
Anxiety paints over the walls of my soul
It wants to lock me away in a corner so cold
And keep me at home, running, afraid to be bold.
But they don’t see this soul in despair
They’re too busy building their religious stairs
With discontent, greed, and no time to care.