Unaware of My Vices

Don’t you wish to cry?

To cry, and cry, and cry,

Until your brain is dry,

But no longer wish to die.

 

Tears are therapeutic,

They live to cleanse your thoughts,

When you are unhappily sick, and privileged to untie some knots.

 

Although,

There are minds, where tears are just below,

Being hollow seems to grow,

And you cannot overflow.

 

Where is the conclusion?

Aren’t you only human?

So why do you have the composure of a God?

Yet of mankind �" you feel like a fraud.