So let me ask you this, is this living?
They say: “Count your blessings.”
But rather the prayer is an order of words
The sound of the voice praying
The nights we are forced to cope
Pretending to be someone we aren’t
They say: “Don’t be afraid, it’s going to get better…”
But we know it will never be the same
Hearts sink, skin crawls, eyes water
Suspended in a forced time
In a timeless void
Yelling, screaming, crying
For the smell of acceptance
But not in the scheme of this generation
History may be labeled as “free”
But I all feel is trapped
Between the bars of this prison
Fluttering between two lives, subsiding
This is the use of memory
The fact that we are compelled to renew, transfigure and repeat
We are masked individuals of society
We will never stop exploring
We will eventually arrive to our destination
To the well known gates
So let me ask you this, is this dying?