I see the world, glorious and gray
Immured inside my fist
Imploring to my benevolence
Praying to be released.
Looking down upon the magnanimity
With a cruel smirk hovering by my lip
There is no resolution left to be taken.
No cause left to be defended.
No soul was left to have mercy upon them.
There emanates, but, a solipsistic chant
Sounding like a groan
Uncertain if effusing from pleasure or pain.