This, it isn't me. And this? This is you. But you are not here, you are there. If you were here though, would you dare to stare into your eyes and see the soul of the trapped, forsaken, and scorned? Would you dare cry out to the weakness of the many, to help the sins of the tainted, who upon their very breath, would curse your truth as lies and lie still more? Would you prey upon the vulnerable who seek succor within your veins, shelter within your willows, and safe harbor upon your brow? I think you must consider that you are the devil within; you ARE the beast that does not sleep; you ARE the spirit that never rests.
Peace is a comfort for which no person is entitled. It is a construct that is broken and crumbled, reformed and remeasured each time and again. But still, we lack. Still we lust, and still, we answer. Again.