Eye of the Beholder

I once sat waiting.

Wanting.

Wishing.

I wanted all that I could not have.

Oh! The power of temptation!

Everything I want knocks my heart out of sync.

Wanting to be noticed, I still sat behind in the shadowed dusk.

Away from the crowd.

Away from the Hell of life’s decisions.

Waiting to forget the important things again.

I pushed away the thought of the non-saddened soul.

Just so I didn’t feel so alone.

The voices in my head went hoarse;

Forever screaming out my mistakes.

People asked how I was;

I replied that I was fine.

Does anyone answer that question differently?

What’s the difference between a murderer and a saviour?

If it may lie in the eye of the beholder;

Could a one like me see the blood on thier hands?

Because it are they whom are the murderer.

The saviour(s) were my feet.

They always carried me away before I allowed myself to hurt too miserably.

So again I ask;

Is it I who is the murderer;

In this world of oppression?

Or is it I who is the saviour;

Liberating the self-damned?