Entering The Viod

Aging youthful pupils mourn, the torment beyond their years,
Faith decayed and stained my fingernails crimson and pale,
And too many questions are hypothetical these days.

Annoying plagues arrange themselves freely among us,
And we are forced to deal with it. Deal with it!
Well, divinity and deity can speak up for themselves,
Spare my heart the weight and worry, you'll crush it.

My scar tissue is branded with the mark,
A mark, given anonymously, beastly, government issue?
Not "my" government; hardly identical, discarded.
Just an ancient portrait for the puppet masters to reference!

Unfortunate, my frailty, my innate strength and poise,
and time alone can tell me how this disease will kill me.
Others are infected; my stereotype, condemned.
Judgement offered, but fickle faith cannot support me.
Blind Justice will not see, she thrives on hatred.

With frailty and loss of faith we crawl,
our scared persona, watching, alive,
our wake, too afraid to close the lid; they want it done.
And the Void calls to us with never ending appeal,
Ready to consume us and our faulty pedigrees,
To reap our substance and call it self-slaughter.