Words forming and frothing at the base of your skull,
hidden there in plain sight, your agenda, rocking to sleep and disrupting this lull.

A mediocre salute, a half-hearted disregard for speech that let this skin shine anew,
a simpler time when batted eyes and vicious curves would encourage chaos to ensue.

Cupped hands make their way towards dead and dying dreams,
spreading flames and fire, the spark of life not quite what it seems.

Like the conscious of a guilty man, decisions heavy, unable to stand,
I’m the supply when the masses have ceased their demand.

Chiseled tongue, making quick work of carved marble and stone,
a thousand summer suns, desperately trying to understand why they are alone.

The hardest of life’s lessons are self taught,
fists raised and ready; the toughest fights are the ones not fought.
.
Tactics taught to fool oneself, belief in the form of a greater good,
“do unto others,” and life will reward you as you think it should.

Disease comes and stays just the same, claiming both the healthy and the lame,
good enough - smart enough - rich enough - sometimes we just aren’t.... enough,
eyes waking to rainy days, a broken joy that’s finally given up,
confidence collides through a whirlwind of regret that follows a family name.

Slipping silently through the night, sticking to shadows and luring the moonlight,
A wishful existence that tastes so miserable, eyes closed, until finally: goodnight.