This Is Not A Reality

I hear their luring cooing, as persistent as sirens
but I resist it, its pitch and all of its temptations
for I cannot open my arms to them
they are firmly burdened
unwavering in all their fullness
I feel what I have gathered
in the worrisome way that if I were to loosen hold
and let them fall hard to the floor
the collision, despite its relief
would create such a violent thunderous clamor
I would subsequently remain forever deafened by its blow


I find such a tragic conundrum rather bittersweet
for my arms shall hold, and my ears drums shall hear
there is a price to pay for what you collect
and choose to hold so tightly to your chest
practically kept within it
I was conscious of this price


the same way jesus didn't have any of his own sin to die for