Wounded Spirits

Why is everything different
as if my days are wounded
spirits, whenever I clear the
clouds away from my brain
the morning cannot wipe my tears
as the night could not cure my blood
with my soul advancing in a unethical
way to death against my broken heart
I will keep my mouth closed
and walk barefoot without
costumes to hide my shames
nor masks to hide my emotions
I pray that the naked sun will
be too hot to handle my lifetime
mistakes, sins, and the damages
that I cause to the port of happiness