Twice, I passed the same.
Once in figment, Once in painful clearness.
One is in dark, One is in light.
One is of two, One is of one.
And to both I have naught to answer, but my silent rage,
A bright light of hate.
Somewhere.
And they don't even know.
They laugh, They cry, They ignore, They repeat what they've
done.
Hitting the wall gives me nothing.
Hitting myself is always in order.
And so I am left.
To swallow, Weep in silence, and go on, for another day.
With them.