I know this path, I walk it slow,
Though deep inside, I want to grow.
Yet guilt becomes my rusty guide—
It keeps me stuck, yet justified.

If I feel bad, then I’ll be good,
Still not doing what thinks I should.
Resignation, my saving grace,
A mask of virtue on my face.

 

That thing I bought still gathers dust,
I know it’s good, that I can trust.
But every day, I look away,
And let the guilt pretend I paid.

 

I’m not in war, I don’t resist,
I just allow a moral mist.
I don’t endorse, but I don’t fight—
I dim the truth, not seek the light.

 

My guilt’s a shield, a quiet plea—
“Don’t you blame me, I can see.”
Yet if I’d shout my fear outloud,
I’d feel that weight dissolve in clouds.

If I feel bad, then I’ll be good,
Still not doing what thinks I should.
Resignation, my saving grace,
A mask of virtue on my face.

 

To free myself, I’ll name that scare,
Out loud, absurd, with comic flair.
The truth beneath begins to slide—
And leaves no place for shame to hide.