Here we are in this cold world, and we stand
Shoulder to shoulder, close enough to feel the heat.
But we do not reach out.
We remain alone.
Haunts in a barren land, lonely souls full of hatred
Because we stand on the brink of connection, of salvation.
And yet we deny ourselves.
And when one cracks,
Cracks open like a wine glass shattered, leaking emotion dark and smooth,
The others deny them in coldness like the ring of crystal,
A toast to a life ended,
To a graveyard joke,
To a jolly good shred of plastic fluttering from a dead tree branch in the wind.
We deny one another, us fools full of yearning and need.
We punish, and it goes round,
And we know not who it is vicious to.
Us or them.
Us alone and lonely or them refusing empathy.  
Us striking rejection like a match or them pleading for tenderness at our coattails.
It goes round like the room's spinning.
We deny our hearts, and they quake in our ******* until we break,
And our blood like wine spills on the floor.
And around us the parlor talk goes on and on, and glasses clink.
Clink, clink, clink, all around.
Drink up to exquisite cruelty.