They Never See
They Never See
They never see the damage in their hands,
only the wreckage left in someone else’s.
They walk through broken rooms calling it fate,
while mirrors stand untouched,
gathering dust.
They paint you villain just to feel like saints,
rewrite the script so they survive the story.
Truth bends easy when you fear yourself,
and blame becomes a language
they speak fluently.
Every road they take ends the same
not by chance, not by curse,
but by footsteps that refuse to learn
the weight of where they land.
They cannot sit with silence,
cannot face the stillness
where truth waits patiently.
So they run
loud, restless, pointing outward.
Empty pockets, open hands,
spending like tomorrow owes them something.
And when the bill comes due,
they pass it round the table
like it was never theirs.
But life keeps count.
Quietly. Precisely.
No matter how they twist the tale.
And one day,
when the noise dies down
and there’s no one left to blame
they’ll meet themselves
for the first time.
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