I’m out here is there anything real,
Anger rises and I hate to feel…
…All those things that call inside,
Wounds deep that hurt my pride.
Liars and circumstance of the task,
Meanwhile, you get to choose to bask…
…In all the things I willingly gave,
Guess it is my lot always a drone, slave.
When all I want to do is rest in arms,
That truly loves me, never to harm…
…Endless fruitless circle, cold thrush,
So infected, this dark heart does gush.
Bleeding out here for all to point and see,
The difference between you and me.
…Is I make it my purpose to hold and heal,
While you are a criminal, one-sided chance to steal.
–Thomas Spychalski
