Cracked reflections. Blood on the altar.
My feelings are cold as if someone or something
Right behind me (devoid of emotion) is guiding my conscience,
Steering my soul through time.
And this too shall pass.
Divine intervention.
I seeketh your attention.
Believe me, relieve me.
I'm begging you, retrieve me
And drain me of poison,
My choices and misfortune.
Providence shall come for the lost ones.
False companions dirty the water.
I bury the needle while taking my turn for worse.
It's only perhaps an illusion.
For eagles of freedom were never designed to fly.
And this too shall pass.
With nothing to regret,
I lie here more than half dead.
Reflections now broken,
And not a word is spoken
Of vice and or virtue,
Nor reasons why I hurt you.
Providence has come for the lost ones.
