Oh you victim,
‘You pushed me away!’
Oh you poor victim –
what did the world owe you?
Because this world won’t care until death,
and who recognises we’re all just people, nothing more and nothing less.
Wrapped up in the emotional debts of old karmic cycles,
what did I owe you?
And if it all amount to nothing, just the black abyss of a subpar existence, revolving around your claim to want me, to care for me, to see me somehow.
This isn’t a love poem, who cares for the old scaring love,
this is a poem for when you give for your family –
and they abandon you.
And then you wonder.
Who really wanted to know.
And who really cared.
When friends become foes,
and the world scoffs when you scream its not fair.
And who wanted to take their own life,
to guarantee the survival of mine.
And who really cared about the struggle,
who really cared about the loss,
who really cared about the brutal, testing cost.
And who just wants one thing,
and who wants everything.
And who will give something,
in return of nothing.
And who judges you day and night,
and who puts you in that ruthless box.
And who sits back in pain,
when you soul begins to rot.
And who kept their word,
and who broke you down.
And who is still around –
who is still around?
I run my fingertips across
makes my flesh pads expand