04-27-2022, 02:44 AM
Working at a suicide hotline in India
The same old rigamarole;
"It's not my fault,
society's to blame"
from men without a dollar
to their name.
Waiting in a queue,
and then pouring their little hearts out
to the interest that I feign,
forgetting, that I'm a person just like them,
who has no answers for their pain.
I never end up helping them anyways,
like consoling the cold statues
protruding hell's gravel;
that whisper only horrible truths
back to me.
My skin has hardened like theirs,
my soul has hardened too,
so whenever they threaten suicide,
I think to myself,
"That's a shame"
The same old rigamarole;
"It's not my fault,
society's to blame"
from men without a dollar
to their name.
Waiting in a queue,
and then pouring their little hearts out
to the interest that I feign,
forgetting, that I'm a person just like them,
who has no answers for their pain.
I never end up helping them anyways,
like consoling the cold statues
protruding hell's gravel;
that whisper only horrible truths
back to me.
My skin has hardened like theirs,
my soul has hardened too,
so whenever they threaten suicide,
I think to myself,
"That's a shame"