This is that hollowness of soul
That comes' calling with a vengeance
When the cats' away.
Things we do
In times of weakness
When life has left us
With no spark
To light a smile with.
Times when the softened darkness
Shines a little warmer
And crawls a little deeper
Under our skin
Until we begin
To find a certain comfort
Within the darkness and the shadows.
Somewhat slowly at first,
Until with a seeming ease
Antipathy
Slides almost effortlessly
Into our veins,
Into our dreams,
Like an ancient disease
Crawls into a weakened body
Starved of any Godly nourishment.
This is when we learn
Our stale station in life,
Our place at the end of the line
And if we're lucky
We die quickly and painlessly
In some back alley.
And if we are not, hopefully
A time comes
When we search for ways
To crawl out of our bottles,
To crawl from under our pills
To crawl from within our syringes
Into a place
Where we can begin
To be human, again.
But this is a struggle
Of great proportion,
The struggle of a life time
Some would say
And there is no rhyme
Or reason
Why you should not
When you finally come
To realize
That you're the monster
Who lives
Within your children's eyes.
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