So Many Damn Questionz

I often ask,
How do we know if what we do is right.
Is it that moment of hysteria when you impale that knife,
In the spine of another?
Or,
That sigh of relief when you decide to be the bigger person,
Rather than fighting with your brothers just to kill each other?…

But,
What happens when you’re so used to seeing blood splatter?
When dead bodies become the norm while you walk back home?
A place where stabbing,
And shooting is more often the goal.
For some bread we don’t want to break,
As theft becomes all that you’d know.
Stealing much more than money as your victim frowns toward the smile you’d boast…

Does death become right when your anger forces you to laugh at it?
Or,
Is it still wrong?
As you become the villain you’ve been mad it in,
A life where you refuse to acknowledge the scars that paint your picture?…

It’s why I just,
Write.
Because,
At times?
We may just become our own enemy.
Possessed by menacing thoughts,
Luring us into a life of skulduggery where a simple klatsch,
Is seen as a pestering idea,
Prompting osmatic responses from those who care enough to sniff through your dirty laundry.
And call out your erroneous ways in a life so,
Daunting…

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