It might not be now, that you ask for my help,
I praise you for pride, to which I have felt.
There won't be much time, for the world to give in,
To the substance inside us, that leads most to sin.
My eyelids grow heavy, as well as my heart.
All I could muster, a syllable's start,
Before you had turned, shrugging and wincing,
The feeling, it resonates, but something is missing.
As I reach out, for the touch of your hand,
You sprint off, knowing I give no reprimand.
Watching you fade, into the distance,
I then understood, the complete resistance.
It didn't take much, to give you my word,
For you to take that and make something absurd,
Then point and accuse, no burden, no guilt,
Would things have been different, if blood had been spilt?
Most of these things, I have no reply.
I simply assess what's real and a lie.
It didn't take much, for me to see,
Everything, in some form, has a fee.
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