The moribund people

The broken minds are for the mad
They say
And shun it like a dog astray
I know nothing of such a lie
And neither did he
Blessed be the unmasked enemy
Of the righteous content mass

Some suffer to the point
Where they grow numb
Where they grow numb
Others are so numb
They deserve to suffer

He wrote his life in blood
Reaching for a star beyond
Which I, the writer, do not know
What was - is - or shall become
Where he showed courage I saw shame
As I mirrored him in the common eye
Of the herd
Little did I know
That when the world turns its monstrous head
Away
It reveals such an incredibly lonely place
Where all is too much, too little
Too much, too much

Some suffer to the point
Where they grow numb
Where they grow numb
Others are so numb
They deserve to suffer