Hymns sung to the highest heavens
in hope that someone would hear
my agonizing cries.

The blue open sky mock me with simplicity
and the green grass gnaw at my feet.
The storm never ceases to yell and scream
at me.

Strongholds within can only withstand so much,
while the pressure and expectations rapidly increase.
Repressed and isolated and kept locked inside,
my life needed breath kept far away.

Life moved by rapid lights and rhythm.
Ever changing, ever growing,
never looking back at those
who have fallen and are not remembered.

Rules and fingers pointed towards one,
dictating who and what we are:
The wrong and the right,
the evil and the good,
the proper and not,
the morally accepted,
and the darkest of sins.

Pain and torn I lay, while the world moves on.
No longer am I a bothersome pest or pathetic worm.
I measly am what I am,
and that is what gets mocks.
A shadow that walks roads in the light,
to make the cruelty die and fade away.