Nobody is born with it,
It is a curse that makes itself a home in ourselves.
A curse handed down through generations, teached as the gospel of modern man,
But they are not to be blamed, for they didn’t knew any better.
And they learned,
That another is the missing piece to complete the puzzle of yourself,
That in accumulation there lies redemption of your felt unworthiness,
And in playing by the rules you will arrive at the destination of happiness,
Only to find yourself at a dead end with your head stuck in barren ground where there grows nothing but a life you dread.
And yet it is our God, a falsness that is relentlessly preached as truth.
A void, an abysmal darkness, ever devouring – a black hole in your chest.
Devouring everything in order to fill this innermost emptiness,
An emptiness that engulfs the heart of man,
And leaves the people broken and shattered,
Leaving them wandering as ghosts through a world that calls them home.
I do no know its remedy, a medicine I have not found,
And I tried the many things the world can offer,
The sweet nectar brewed in the jungle,
Sitting in the chambers of silence,
Praying to the most high.
Although they salved my own feelings of emptiness,
Sealing the mouth of this ever devouring curse was not in their realm of possibilities.
But they were the ingredients for the realization that brewed underneath my skin.
And as I stopped grasping at straws and found myself empty handed,
I saw that I was the tool that I needed,
I was the key to unlock my own remedy.
But I don’t claim to be healed of this sickness,
I do say that its hunger is getting less and less by the day,
And in exchange the serenity of contentedness visits me often,
Few are the days in which I feel the curse moving me towards things neverlasting,
Even fewer the days in which I believe in their pursuit.