In False Spirits

A perspective of the portion of believers who won't allow themselves to be human

In a buzzing world of crates on pulleys
Constantly lifting our pain out of frame

If we can raise it high enough above us
We can deny its ever present power!

Never you mind my shaking arms
Focus instead on my flat, pasted smile

Just slather the heart with this topical salve
Our medication of perceived benevolence

I may be ripping apart from the inside out
But I'm far too blessed to be stressed