Stay -- your hands
                         My dear
                         My friend
Stay -- your hands
                   My friend...*

I know times have been better --
                    The crops have been wetter
Our hearts have been lighter and
Our bonds have been tighter

    But I want you to know --
    That some flowers it’s
    In the dessert they grow
*So stay -- your hands
       My friend.

Not looking forward to looking back.
Not looking forward
-- Start to retract.

                                                       ­       thoughts are cyclic

The creeping sedative
Numbing every sanctum.
The Gray comes like a stroke
With unstoppable momentum.

                                                      ­  behavior becomes translucent

Leaking feelings do not return
Leaving only those without yearning.
Better yet, desire goes out completely
Leaving a shell - shattered – empty.

                                                         ­      emotional apathy

The pieces don’t fit together any more.
The more you try, the more disfigured they become
-- And so the ink begins to run
On a page, which never sees the sun.

                                                           ­                     social withdrawal

Four walls with no doors, no windows.
Secluded amongst others who are sane.
Accompanied by a consciousness so malicious,
Every effort is made in vain.

                                                  di­ssolution

Black and White meet.
The Gray is an admission…
An admission of defeat.
An admission of defeat.