We clean up debris and stitch wounds, but our lips are stitched far more tightly than we first believed.  We are basking in the silhouette of silver skylines, but these vacant voices are maddening in the deep quiet.  I've watched for years as our laughter faded, from a medicine delivered through strands of innocence, to the subtle poisons of dying youth.

And it makes me wonder,

Am I so crumpled that
I can't defend myself from seduction?
Have I even once been amended since
My evils were birthed into this chaos?
Am I really so callous that
I ignore the pleas of my heartbeat?
Are we all so burdened that
The beast doesn't even matter anymore?
Is it so far-fetched to ask for my own exile
From mankind's tragic grand finale?