The wrong, as always, was the right for us,
tainted trust stained with the blood
of our previous victims;
those whims of wondering what loving touch could feel like.
It burnt us, softened us to smoke,
that floated quiet out the door before dawn could break the news
and break the illusion.

We were loners,
Devoted to laying the stones of our own path,
Never held back tangles of commitment.
Without them we were untethered dreams
that broke into reality and made ourselves the monarchs
of our lowley, lonely kingdoms.

Look what those whims
have done to our crowns;
Rusty and bent they fall hapless
on our heads as we stand before
crowds of shadows cast by our egos.

There are no romances, no capes,
Princes or heroes in this land of the leftovers.
Only us
The wrong adorned as right
The deniers of the light of love
(That weakness of giving in and giving all).
How cold it all becomes when our dreams are big
but hearts are empty.

Every jumble of parts that fell together,
all puzzled at their place, are us;
the infintismal small stuff
of dreams and nightmares,
repeated till they've driven us mad
and had us searching for the impossible,
the drifty philosophical queries
of life living and existing.

Ribbons of rainbows tie us in knots,
connect our dots to the gold within us,
mined and shined to shimmer the normality
of community,
as we live and love it with little homes,
picketed and known only to us.
Those green manicured lawns
Where we raise our young and aspire
To be the corner stone or corner piece
The bit that makes up their sky,
So we can do down in history
Without going dusty in a box
Forgotten or lost
As most puzzle pieces are.

Everything is small today
Closed in
And choking.
Walls are built
From judging gazes
And doors
Are fumbled to lock
Through fear.
My fear
The only certainty I
Own today
It is the spaces of my mind
Is the beat in my chest
The twist in my gut
And all the dust that settles
On the stuff
I no longer think I love.
I cant look at them
Happier in their times of health
I feel like a ***** among them
Stranger bent and twisted
They wonder why i visited
At all
If i cannot stand to smile.
What is that
My lips are downturned hurt
And muscles ache
With the strain
Of keeping it together
If i should loosen my hold
Just for one toothy lie,
The i should fly apart
Around the sadness
Then who would clean up
That mess?

I see the ones
who don't see anyone.
Their skin is as fragile as the pages in an old book
and they look at me with eyes that have read it all,
seen it all
and are still scared.
I know their loved ones;
the worried fingers
that lace and unlace
as they stare a hole in the space between their shoes,
unused to the barriers,
fighting every instinct just to keep dear ones safe.
When I grace their bedside,
adjust the pillows behind their heads, I think;
every touch is their touch -
the ones that can't be close -
reaching through closed doors.
Every look is their look.
Every word of comfort are words those loved ones would say.
I hope they know,
and I pray they are
no longer alone.

Can you please lend me your eyes?
Don't be long, I promise.

Please, let me show you what I see in you.