2:00 A.M.

Eyes die on the wall They rot the spot where they land. Flora of tangled thought cover There is nothing that stops them. To rest seems too kind but to rouse seems too cruel. The world dies around them the knowledge of this is paralyzing. Is gratitude a privilege, to know you have what others don't? Or is it a burden, to know it's not enough to fix you? This safety is a cage, watching cities burn while unable to help.