Gut level, below it all.
Out of duty - just here.
Feeling like a knife's being twisted in the hole of how it is.
False hope, an inch of pride that died when I left to hide from non stop battering of conditioned opinion.
Rest a**ured but not a**ured, all is well, but I think we've dealt with the fear for far too long.
Unborn suffer the norm.
Born to this - I think not!
I stand against till the sh** drops.
We see all but do nothing, in the hole of "How it is".