What is a name but a mask of an
      empty mind, for bodies are just callous
shapes of the odd DNA
      handed to us from destroyed
generations. It would be nice if I
      could look you straight in the eye and speak
with incomparable
      honesty, but I'm reminded of the blinding glare
illuminating like blue lightning behind my eyes
      of past bridges burned down with that tactic.

Listening to staggering silence
      prompts me to unravel the one pinnacle
thread to my existence. I'll tell you my weakest
      point before you even get the darts
out. Indecision is my only theme,
      and you found it out. You found
it out. I'm grinding my bones with an iron pestle,
      and sifting through the dust as a last resort that
there really isn't anything more
      to my meager existence. I don't want anyone to know
that I'm nothing more than my empty words,
      but every time I part my stale lips,
the truth comes out and I'm busted.