Weary words arrive in an instant.
Oppressing clarity of thought.
Emotions pulled from neatly tended to crops.
Easier to sow because they reside so close to the surface.
Weary hearts beat to the rhythm of disappointment.
Lots of folks care solely about being heard,
and aren’t willing to listen.
Even those with legitimate gripes.
Tormenting all that would try to change,
but understanding and empathy are not the baseline.
Only aggressive vengeance is desired.
The pain has left so deep a mark,
that only hate is able to fill the void.
Martyrdom is the goal.
You have no possession over my will.
Just pity, that we were born into what we were born into.
Against a will that hadn’t even formed.
Delivered within a promise of mortality.
Forever doomed in doubt.