The Luxury of Compassion

Sickening, it sickens me.

All the way to the bone.

What I’m seeing, and all that I know.

Retched, putrid, fully alone.

This place, it is cold.

The luxury of compassion, gone.

I strive to see its forgotten foe.

Destruction, is all that it knows.

From one window, the world turns.

Inside, with the cacophonous mind.

Seeing, without doing.

I wonder how I survive.

 

 

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