el Madre

Gaining more bricks to build this wall on my back.
So vexatious,
its harder to stand beside a beggar crying out deformed opinions.
Clothes are smudged.
He is standing on a corner with a bible in one hand,
with the other raised tothe heavens.
Preaching the word of god and begging for my coins and sympathy.
While his veins are yearning humbly
"heroin, heroin"
Do I dare lean step closer and hand him change
I also am in desperate need of,
and reap the consequences of kidnap and feeding addiction…
Or walk away?
Knowing both of our true intentions,
I leave my back turned
His milky eyes roll when my actions offend him
Pace is slow with my head bowed
Do not pass judgement on this situation,
He quested substance to clear his mind of this corrupt domain. The same one I run from
At a glance, I see a coin wedged in the broken brick walkway.
Faulty thoughts beat into my eye sockets
I take it and walk back in my old direction
Handing it to the priest of less fortune
This will not label me as a martyr or prude
I am running from someone who isn’t chasing
More or less, paranoid and psychotic
I am him
I am standing here at cathedral gates with unimaginable faith
Begging for understanding,
Yet I have been offered deaf ears to speak to
My fault that mental balance is uneven
But how can I lookout a window with full attention
When the view is of pure white snow?
I cannot seem to see myself in reflections
Only found glimpses of memories
Wrapped in foiled confusion
How can I help you when I detest the beggar?
i hate who i become

ideal taken from
Mosiah 4: 14-30

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