I envy the dark souls who beg for time,
The ones who spend them stoned out of their goddamned minds
Too beaten and bloody to face the next round of rapid purgatory.
I envy the saints who have no regrets.
They wave beautiful gifts of glory with eyes and mouths sewn blissfully shut,
Disoriented by the very light from which they claim liberation.
I envy the hopefuls who always stride forward,
Finding ambition amidst hordes of cynical fiends.
They’ll never descend.
I envy the boy who once had all the time in the world
A ghost of the past,
His light violently extinguished by the hand of the ones he loved.
I envy the miscreants who ask for forgiveness,
Scarring their knees on icy daggers as remorse consumes them.
The slain monster lays broken in its teardrop prison.
Though I envy not their revelation or rescue, their happiness or faith
But their willingness to live
Despite the spirit they lost mercilessly clawing for a way out.
I envy volition,
The gilded steps to tranquility,
For desire I have none.