It's easier to say you're fat and should be ashamed of your lifestyle, then to say I hate your happiness about yourself

Bitterness and hate don't use truth, for then they have to look at themselves for what they are.

don’t want to head outside, and become swept away from the storm that is raging

To be drowned in God’s black tears, to become another body laid to the graves of Babel

I wish to escape what is happening around, but the fates have set their sacrifices to my placement here

So I’ll sit from the shattered window sill and watch the storm, biblical in measure, chaotic in humanity

You’re quite the wretch, how you expel sarin and carbon monoxide from your pores

You hide behind an accent book, a holy text to justify your ignorant crusades

Do you think God looks at you with grace? You may accept Jesus, but the son of God doesn’t accept you

You sing Amazing Grace, to instill in yourself grace, but the truth is skin deep

When you condemn people to hell, do you think you’ll ascend to heaven?

What’s truly worse, a supposed life of sin? Or causing pain and sorrow for innocent people?

How mornings sing with hymnals and nursery rhymes

It sounds with a grace and damaged beauty

How your awakening feels ill tempered and quick

The sunken eyes with black and grey tapestry

How they look as graveyards in the spring

They gaze out to the world beyond walls, it’s something that wishes for eternal slumber

The history of a nation, bended towards the allure of a black dragonfly, a seeping beast that bubbles and brews along the sun baked earth

What a terrifying creature it is, the black devil that infects and corrupts the congregation around

It’s a flammable god, that has the minds of several masses, wishing to make their wells deeper with Midas Gold and African gems

It will burn a hole through the middle of the Earth, it will set itself on fire and aim to take everything organic around it to ashes

For it is a cycle that has begun long ago, instigated by the sins of fathers, and being conjured evermore by the spirits of the past

It will only aim to become a behemoth, that will crush and pillage those that go against it

Rigid moralities become devoted members when they see the banks of The Black Sea, the hearts of men become minds of virus

It will never cease to stop, for the creature can not die, we can not stop what we created.

There’s no absolutes in this world, people have inherent good and bad, it’s something that is somehow in the threads of our humanity

We all commit wrong acts, sins, pains, whatever you wish to call it

It’s what you choose that makes your definition, and it seems our modern era has chosen bad

I am in a fog, there is a fog over this world

I walk in this fog, seeing if my steps will take me to the shore, to see the ocean

I can’t see clearly, but I can see

And sometimes that’s all that can be given

But I see the flowers on the ground, the faded colors of beauty

I know there is beauty in this world, even if the chosen course has been greed, ignorance, and evil

One day the sun will rise again, and it will be a different kind of sun

Not one of apathy, but one of hope

One of future, bright and clear