A plague in the heart
'Tis a world carved from flint and spite,
Where cruelty passes for unwritten right.
Would a child rather choke on the dust of the grave,
Than drown in the skin they were forced to save?
We smile while the quiet ones fracture inside,
Building an empire where hypocrites hide.
They stitch up their mouths, they swallow their pride,
Trading the truth for a place where they're safe from the tide.
Who carved the scale that we're measured against?Why is every soft difference a crime to be fenced?
A whisper, a posture, a heartbeat too fast—
Hunted and tagged till the die has been cast.
Too late we will look at the empty room,
At the flowers we sent to disguise the gloom.
For the plague isn't foreign, it lives in the dark:
The silent, slow rot of a poisoned heart.
