A shock of venom
oh, succulent hate
like honey to the most avid tongue.

We could turn away
carve a shallow life from the thin bone of oblivion
construct intricate vortices in which to endlessly swirl.

We could withdraw
terminal distrust gradually withering our lives
it would not still the voices screaming.

I seek the source of my own complicity
backtrack to the point at which I swung
from disillusioned to disengaged

my apathy mistaken for acceptance.