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There lives the sweetest ignorance deep inside lies

like a parent giving consolation during a hurricane

because sin is easy on the conscious when nobody believes in heaven or hell.

Grey matter, brains neither black nor white,

gasping for air in a world where we've lost the ability to feel

empathy like novocain, stares and strangers with eyes lacking love

waiting to die young and become raised up like a martyr

instead of living the everyman's life.

Self doubt, the most beautiful of all flowers, like blood from a rose thorn's prick

pumping through bodies. The man and his guitar on the street corner,

dressed in his Sunday best, each note a silent prayer.

Author's Note

This is a collaboration. I cannot and will not take full credit for this work.