They say a spiteful and cynical man
Was once a man who trusted too much
He believed in a cause or personal plan
But it soon became his crutch

The golden apple that seemed so delicious
Was now a weight upon his chest
From caring he became malicious
And now no longer cared about the rest

They say a hateful and villainous man
Was once a man who loved without fail
But he was betrayed and so he ran
His heart now cold and stale

I hold in my hand a goblet
Filled to the brim in hemlock
But I hesitate to sip
For it would surely **** me
I am in a state of pinnacle truth
Of pure control
For I can end it all
Or carry on

You carry the same goblet
Filled with whatever may **** you
Sometimes you are thirsty
And yearning to drink
To find comfort in that sip
When you feel like your life
Spirals into shredded paper
Or saw dust on the floor
But you hold that goblet
You control that cup
And no matter the moment
You are in control.

Unlike the flowers in the field
Or the trees within the grove
Loneliness is the crop I yield
Surrounded by many, yet still I rove

For flowers have fields of friends
An abundance of varied bloom
Beautifully blossomed at their ends
Loved for their perfume

Trees breathe life into the air
Magnificent and tall
Capturing all the eyes that stare
And mourned for when they fall

These thoughtless trees and silent herbs
Seem to be more loved than I
Like forgotten trashed kicked to the curbs
My purpose isn't worth the cry

I feel aimless in the wind today
Like a ship without a sail
Perhaps tomorrow that feeling shall flutter away
But today, no purpose seems to avail.

Even if
You may be the faintest flower
You shall always be
Beautiful to me

Not to be too macabre
But here I am in my own head again
With the haunting realization
That if you think of the most painful
Most gruesome way
Someone has suffered
It is likely
That it has happened on this earth
Am I the only one who thinks this way?
As I sit here pondering about death?
I realize and put it into words
To think that someone out there
Right now
Is suffering the most unimaginable pain

And I feel worthless for a moment
For I can do nothing to assuage their suffering
How pitiful I feel
For I cannot help them
How miserable I am, that even if I was there
Could I help them?

Suffering is a haunting song
With tones of rhythmic chaos
Created by our own acts
Created by others actions
But here I sit, unable to do anything at all

But if we could rid the world of suffering
And never have to worry about the nameless
The helpless and hurting people
What would be willing to give up
Would we give it up?
And now I wonder what is more wretched
That people suffer and I can do nothing
Or the question of if we could stop suffering
And give up all we had
In totale
Would we?

He cared so much it consumed him
Moderation was not in his creed
He sacrificed his soul and limb
To attain the goal to forever be freed

He cared so much it killed him
So much so he became a wretch
A villain in the story
Fixated on the stretch

He cared so much to help the world
But in the end he was seduced
Addicted to his plan unfurled
To a scoundrel he was reduced.