The present offers me cans. The future, wills

While the past gave me should haves and plastic pills

Disappointment, nausea, and painful feels.

A bloody war between vengeance and humility

Wages on in my heart with a hair-raising plea

There are no winners. The loser is me, but they don’t see.

Anxiety paints over the walls of my soul

It wants to lock me away in a corner so cold

And keep me at home, running, afraid to be bold.

But they don’t see this soul in despair

They’re too busy building their religious stairs

With discontent, greed, and no time to care.