Broken and bathing in this foul and vile circus of circumstance.
It seems you have more tears than you need, yet still you bleed.
And for what? Forgive my curiosity.
You have me singing your ongoing tragedy,
like a knife twisted in the face of
those who gave you shelter from the storm.
You may crave the memory of anything
but your loneliness and strife,
my poor muse, but perpetuating this emptiness
has you defeating yourself.
Like a witness to your own vanishing,
addicted to the tone and the flavor
of these stab wounds, you surface
and remain as if suspended in time.
Sunshine will again turn to darkness,
as with all things, and when the creatures
of the night continue their prowl, I’ll do you
a favor and tell tales of horror in your absence.
With this empty cup, I toast to your
ascending journey and nod my head
as bells ring to signify the passing
of yet another moment of formality.