Truth Is Sorry, Slightly Judgmental 

Truth is sorry for being born,

And slightly judgmental for having the spine.

A silent sufferer too in crowd,

The era of sky-high morals,

Has left the building.

Silly smiles are in town.

Prejudice too just followed suit.

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If you are a ruthless selfish, you’re welcome.

If you are a spineless serpent,

You are a sweetheart.

You will feel alone in your mighty heart,

Until you regret for having one.

You will walk the desert alone and thirsty,

Choking for an ounce of fresh perspective,

And gasping for opinions, not so biased,

Unless you carry a bunch of unpopular tales.

You will be pecked for good habits.

And sush-ed for right choices.

Good is the mobster,

Right is just so wrong.

Carelessness is cool,

And I can’t stress this enough.

Being heedful just signs you off.

Simple is labelled an outlaw,

And sensible is a complicated fool.

Caring is stale, an outdated stinker,

Making sense is a total looser.

Being right is an absolute redundancy.

Buried are the core values,

Six feet below the earth.

Cremated are the manners,

Common sense is next in line.

Truth is aghast at plastic confidence,

And wide-eyed at superfluous prides.

Its quiet mate called humble is missing since many summers,

While the heart of acceptance,

Stays aloof, in shivering winters.

Innocence suffers in the hands,

Of a skilled steerer.

A d vegan, an honest target at butchers,

wonders its blunder.

Simplicity is a borderline disorder.

Your heart will be pinned to wall,

And picked with darts,

If you possess the demons,

of morals unsuitable in filthy metros.

Image source: maridav, free on CanvaPro

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