Decay

We hold our pain in,

Though we're told not to.

Embrace the stinging,

All that's left to hold onto.

One day we'll look back,

And reminisce the golden years.

We'll find it was a fact,

Pain shifts our rusted gears.

But gold like this doesn't rot,

The way infected flesh festers.

It decays into what it's not;

Becomes something else altogether.

Just the same without a doubt,

Inevitable is the decay that creeps.

Our souls burn from the inside out,

Fearing a future we'll never see.

That pure flame within,

This little light inside,

It's that very same thing,

That burns us alive.