There’s no use
No tools will do
A fault line runs through
But in the distance
Beyond the line
I see you

Spare some time,
Some shine,
Some change.

Give a line,
A sign,
Some way to gauge.

A teary eye,
A hidden lie,
Some way to turn the page.

But when I try,
Both you and I
Dig a deeper grave.

Weeping from her wounds
Poisoned by the flesh and bones
We’ll rest when she’s dead.

Opened.
Pried and beckoned
Ripped from tranquility
Forced into this reality
Again.

High on shallow dreams
Empathize with fellow beasts
Preach obscurity

Cradle his young ego
The man repeats old patterns
Fooled by his own mind

Pieces of shrapnel
It drifts on by,
Invisible to your naked eye.
It solicits no hand,
No beckon to the why.
It offers no reason,
No mark to signify.

Pieces of shrapnel
Just searching
for its place,
Scouring the wide eyes—
The hopeless,
The grace.
To know its name
Is to give it a face.

These pieces of shrapnel
Have found its place.

Amidst all the pomp and circumstance,
Between the togetherness and happenstance,
Brews a world of disillusionment,
A creeping, silent bewilderment.

Spewed forth like a cannonball,
One by one, you watch them fall.
Smugness in a straw man’s call,
A fabricated know-it-all.

Flowing like a shattered dam,
Words engraved in the common man.
Truth reduced to a hollow crutch,
When blessed by the divine touch.

May the words forever be heard,
Not as command,
But as the absurd

Stand beside me, Friend
The one I have always feared
The one that lives here.

Within solitude
Forever speaking to ghosts
Who never speak back.