Pitter, patter, splat, splatter.
Mad as a lost hatter.
Swirling around the voice of voice.
Where has his meaning gone?
It slipped down his throat,
Escaped having only filth.
Palms out!
Eyes closed
As his world crumbles
By his touch.

He feels the spiral of song,
Enchanting his heart with hope.
The words dig in dangerously
Criticize this soul,
But this beauty is what is left.

He dares not fight,
Craves only admiration.
Whickering comes the stifled laugh
Mocking his existence.
Another crossroad overcrowded
With souls being sold.
For?
Peace
Love
Survival.
Like him, some so desperate
For the trade
in hopes new hell
Will be better than old.
All that is wanted is an end.