The Prism

World is crumbling all around,

Smeared,

Like the echo

Of some sounds that isn't heard.

Mind is wandering to unknown places,

Tired,

Like the traveler

That never finds what is required.

Soul is dispersed in different directions,

Confused,

Like the light

Who never found out what for it is used.

Not worthy...

You take in Air

But you're not worthy of it.

All these lies you're feeding yourself

Consume you daily bit by bit.

You take in Sadness

But you're not worthy of it.

Not worthy of anything

Not worthy of the people you meet.

You take in your Soul

But you're not worthy of it.

So you just wonder

If for a dead person are all these fit?