Tread Softly

I like the pain,
The pain I feel.

The pain I like best is the one I make,
The pain I make is far better than feeling the pain of others,
Of their words and of their actions.

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

I’d rather feel my own pain,
Make my own pain,
Taste my own pain,
Than feel theirs.

So yes, while sticks and stones
And words and actions hurt me bad,
It makes me mad.

How can you get to me so?
Why does it hurt?
This pain, oh this pain,
Woe is me, woe is me,
This pain is them.

I hate their pain,
Their pain I hate.

I love my pain,
I make my pain.

Red blood falling,
Or beautiful crimson flames?

My own,
Or theirs?

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

I hate the pain,
I loathe it,
Abhor it.

I love my pain,
I adore it,
When I feel the paroxysms
That I make,
I weep, tears of joy or of madness?

I live for my burn,
Whilst I die by theirs.

They kept me in the dark,
And so it all began.

A fingermark here,
A nail there,
A pinch here,
A poke there,
A slap here,
A cut there.

A punch here,
A pull there,
A sob here,
A scream there.

A burn,
—The burn,
——It burns.

A push,
A fall,
A look,
A scar,
A puppeteer,
A marionette.
Who are we,
Who are they?

Ignorance,
Agony,
Bend,
Break,
Glass shatters.

Pain,
Without love,
Pain,
Without love,
Pain,
I can’t get enough,
Pain:
Pain, Pain, Pain.

The middle,
The end,
The beginning?

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make,
Takes it all away.

So when I die,
Will you know why?
Will you cry,
As the life leaves my eyes?

Happiness?
Sorrow?
Anger?
Death.

The start,
The finish.
One Culprit,
A victim?

Alive—
            Dead.

            Regret?
                         —Nirvana.

The pain I feel,
Makes it all real.
The pain I make
The pain I make
Takes it all away.

The eyes…
They look,
They see,
They judge.

I see them all,
He does it,
She does it,
They do it,
Even I. 

What do they see?
What do I see when my eyes rest upon them?

Am I in the wrong?
Am I bad?
Am I too good it’s fake?

Why must we judge?
We are all one and the same,
With the same things,
Made the same way:
Either by the Creator or Creation.

The eyes,
They see,
They see too much.

The souls,
They judge,
Why must they judge? 

The eyes,
They look at us,
They look at things,
They make us judge,
Whilst they judge as well.

I wonder,
Oh how I wonder,
Why?

Why must we judge?

When we see the hate in their eyes,
The disgust, the scorn, the love, the fear,
When we know our eyes hold much the same.

What has it all come to,
When it’s now Man against Technology, Man against Society?
What shall we do when it’s Man versus Man, or Self versus Self?
What can we do?

How has it come to this?
The eyes, the eyes and the soul,
They know.
They must,
For they started it all.

Why must we judge?
Why must we look upon Man,
And see nothing but contempt?

Why can we not love all?
Why must we hurt,
Hurt others, hurt ourselves.

Why must we judge?
The eyes,
The eyes,
They see it all,
They know it all.
Or so they think?

What if it’s wrong?
What if it’s right?
What if it’s wrong and yet it feels ever so right?

What must we think?
What can we think,
When it’s not our choice or time to speak.

How can we have a right to find fault in others and judge,
When we find fault in ourselves?
No one is perfect,
Why must we act as if we were?

Why must we fight amongst ourselves?
It’s because of the eyes and what they see.

The eyes,
They see,
They see it all,
Or so they think. 

When families have been reduced to going against each other,
To fighting amongst one another,
What must we do,
What can we do,
When blood is no longer thicker than water?

The eyes…
They look,
They see,
They judge.

The eyes,
They see,
They see too much.

The souls,
They judge,
Why must they judge?

Why must we judge?