My Mind

You taste the sorrow,
You lick it from your lips,
There is no tomorrow,
For you are in the apocalypse.

You walk on broken glass,
In hopes the shards will lead the way,
You question but are afraid to ask,
Why you press on this day.

The air is so rigid,
Cutting at your limbs and face,
Your heart so frigid,
Cries to get out of this place.

You climb the highest mountains,
You search the lowest trenches,
All you found were countless sins,
And a bunch of holes in my defenses.

Such an ugly place,
To ever find,
And to my disgrace,
You found my mind.