I believe my biggest mistake was believing in earnest that i could go out to the world
While retaining the virginity of my soul
For "Every Good Boy Does Fine", I was told
But , alas ,it was ravished by the time I graduated from the school of adolescence
It seems the world isn't as peachy as you'd imagine it at the age of 8
And the older one gets
The less their innocence shrinks
And fades, mumbling between its chatter
"I didn't sign up for this"
Well, I grew up to be a sorry excuse for a human being
So mine gave up on my coming back when I left them alone
In the darkest chambers of my heart
They decided to remain quite when I wore the mask of pretense
Every time I left my hearth
Even stopped showing signs of dismay when I mastered the art of lying
Without glancing sideways
I look back to the time when a smile of a stranger was a day maker
And I revel at how it is now either a harassment lawsuit in preparation
Or a big favor standing in line to be asked of you
And as much as I feel a shiver of disgust at myself for thinking that way
The sad part is ; i'm not mistaken
For the most part
I'm not mistaken in my reluctance
To take a hand offered to me while climbing up the cliff of desperation
Because I'd rather fall to my doom if fate decided that I should slip
Than handing my life to some goon and watch them
As they turn me to a crip
With a wry smile on their face
Much obliged, but I'd rather spare myself the soar after-taste
Of being made a fool of, see
If you've received enough blows at a young age, forcing you to an early wake
You'd learn to habitually raise your palms in anticipation of a slap
When a stranger extends their hands for a shake
I say, why does innocence die that young anyway ?
Why doesn't innocence grow kind wrinkles and stiff joints
Wither slowly like an old palm tree and die in peace with a smile of content on its face?
Why aren't we born contaminated and instead we grow backwards
To our initial state of purity?
Wanting to get ahead in the race of life
Isn't the root of vice
It's constantly watching the back of your ascendant
Instead of the grand prize
It's the dirty games
The elaborate lies
Judges of marilty accepting bribes, friends taking sides
The weak getting hacked
And the daggers thrust in one's back
Is it so wrong to think that I could've reached the top while keeping my hands clean
From the blood of my guiltless soul?
When I was a kid
I wanted my innocence to be buried with me in my dark grave
But instead I waived my innocence when i came of age with little traces of regret
It had to be done, see
It had to be done even if I renounced the race
Because the smile of my child was anyway gone
The minute they realized I found them a burden
Their healthy, pulp faces grew so thin
And quietly
They disappeared
To the oblivion of my closet
And sometimes,
I, the troubled parent
Resting my head weighed down by guilt
On my pillow, wet with the tears of my conscience
In the quite of the night
When sleep skips its usual visit
I stare at the ceiling
And think of ways to bury my dying son
To muffle their faint breaths
Without having to look them in the eyes
And engrave in my memory the final gaze of disgust they gave me
When I failed them
One last time
ليست هناك تعليقات:
إرسال تعليق