An Entity of Vice
Who is it,
That I regretfully consist of?
Is it a numbing thought,
In the insanity?
Or a foreign voice,
Calling for help?
Is it a heart of empathy,
Or the repentance of past sins?
Is it the lack of emotion,
Or an influx of grief?
A pang of guilt,
Like a tumor infecting the senses.
Is it an entity of humanity,
Or a singularity in the chaos?
Is it the weakness,
That causes the body to paralyze?
Or the prolonged suffering,
Of a concluding sense of inadequacy?
A hand without warmth.
A heart that beats without effect.
And an existence without reason.
What is it that I have done?
What is it that I have left behind?
Is it the contentment of humanity?
Or the vice of apathy?
Am I a symphony among the chords,
Or the silence before the mayhem?
Am I the black in the grey,
Or the sustenance of white?
Am I the consequence of virtue,
Or the resolution of a sin?
Am I the existence of a mistake,
Or a sigh of relief?
Am I a hand of warmth?
Or a painting of lost colors?
Like a wandering pigment,
In the art of survival.
For I am an entity of vice,
A soul sold to the undergrowth,
Lost in the silence of disbelief.
– Imaan Siddiq
