They degrade
They deny
They hurt
and lie
Yet on I grind
and on I find
theres a piece of me that I left behind
The weak, the fearful, the terror filled
by the daily grind, the old me is killed
Yet as I look back upon my struggle
My brain I cannot help but muddle
Am I the same? Is this really better?
Have I ruined myself by going for the better?
Have I ruined my heart by toughening the tender?