I’ve seen my end,
Always prespiring on the brink of pure bliss or total despair.
A wrangled heap of bitten tongues
And tongues in cheek.
Nothing is to be taken seriously,
But the doctor called
Said I’m definitely dying.
What is the cost of empathy?
When the world grinds your bones to dust,
While you’re grinding your teeth in disgust,
Of all the things you despise, but must
What is the cost of sanity?
When your reality is shaped by lunatics,
Screaming senselesly about politics,
And your body is plagued by rheumatic
You can be sure that solitude is something I’m accustomed to,
Something I’ve even sought,
Without a second thought.
The silence clears the mind of all the idle talk.
My joints are enflamed to the touch.
But I’m afraid I can’t just give up.