Was it the grey, cold November rain?

Was it the beatings, or the silence?

Or the contempt in other people’s faces?

I lost my way somewhere back there.


Poisoned by almighty compassion –

I lost myself in other people’s despair.

Stuck on autopilot, barely navigating,

I’m about to run out of will and power.


Can’t keep on and can’t stop either.

This twilit land of nowhere and

nobody is the only sovereignty I know.

I’m gonna carry all that confusing weight.


I remain seated, in this first-row catastrophy

Till I’m stripped of spite and proud

Isn’t this the fourth reality collapsing?

This one will pass too.


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