Pride hangs heavy like stale breath,
you wear it, strut in its rust.
It sharpens your tongue
but dulls your ears,
makes you a king of an empty street
shouting orders to the pavement.
Love doesn\'t live there,
doesn’t crawl up through
the cracks in your brittle chest.
Pride locks the doors,
barred windows,
a fortress built for one fool
waiting for applause to echo.
You can\'t hold hands
while gripping the reins,
can\'t see the sky
with your chin so high,
thinking the world owes you
its spin on your clock.
Love catches its foot
on the tripwire of your ego.
It stumbles, it bleeds,
and it leaves because
it doesn\'t want to fight pride’s war.