Confessions of a Survivor

They say that shame is a global judgment
On the bad self which devalued now shrinks,
Or wishing to at least hide from the eyes,
Powerless to veil its bared worthlessness.
Thus shame's debilitating beyond words,
While guilt's a judgment on actions only;
Discomfort thus much easier to bear,
The good self freed should it choose to repent,
Sacrifice, pay the cost, repair the harm....
Oh how foolishly assuring must be
To make distinctions in his fancy ink
For one whose boiling blood is a bright red,
Not curdling darkness lurching forth blindly,
Unconsciously circling, somehow feeding
Mindless machinery and all aiming
To keep alive this thinking squishy thing
Where souls in solitary confinement
Ask why me and not him, why him not me?
Why this and not that, why now and not then?
Why breathe this air and take up this space-time
When each single hour the lives of all kind
End mid-breath without a reason or rhyme?
Oh what do scientists in lab coats know,
What do therapists, what do preachers know....
What does anybody know about survival guilt!
When they all know nothing in the first place
Of why they're born and living anyway.
Only the criminals must feel guilty,
Or they should, they say, but nobody else.
How easy it must be if you fear no
Punishment for living your random lives.
How many cold dead hands are caressing your thick throat?