You never eat,
you barely sleep -
you've become immune to fresh air.
You never cry,
you're always high -
dull eyes occupied by vacant stares.
You hardly think,
but turn to drink
when it's time to make a choice.
You're the walking dead,
your words unsaid
will never have a voice.

We live beneath an ocean of air
That keeps us as one through pressure,
As currents conspire to tear us apart
The maelstrom whispers and roars.
Picking leaves from trees
That cascade unto the ground
With n'er a sound but of rippling foliage.
A hermitage lost in a sirocco,
Drowned beneath the gales of this world.

It takes a second to hurt
A little group of words
A bunch of letters of pain
In random fashion arranged

Meaning so little to the speaker
And to stranger couldn't be bleaker
Like blood drops on butter paper
The image dry and fading weaker

But to someone quiet and concerned
Like a cattle branding iron burn
Like bitter wind on dry flaked cheeks
On cold days through loneliest of weeks

No use then to bend and fall on your feet
No use now to buckle and beg on your knees
Let the silence be answer to those words
In time of freedom we will learn

There is no me, there is no you, instead;
There is only vengeance of deepest red