A cacophony of dreams slowly spinning around
The cellophane faces of a lurid crowd.
Screaming for sympathy as your arms are strapped down
And the burning apathy that will make no sound.
But, I’ll stay beside ‘til your time runs out.
I’ll place slivers in your palms, dirt in your mouth;
And though staring intently, I truly doubt
That the faces will stop me from mixing the grout
That will seal the tomb of a new sheltered fate
Where you’ll calm your wounds on the cold, fractured slate.
Your growing silence makes my scars burn alive.
I know you’re awake for your lips pray to die
And your eyes, though glossed over, still follow my knife
As it glistens so softly in this unending plight.
Relax, for your scars will be no worse than mine.
A reflection of all that we’ve lost over time.
Forever, we’ll share these familiar lines
To the dusk of this tragedy that was once called our lives,
For the unfeeling fingers that scrape the tears from your eyes
Will be there to share in your foretold demise.
An unnerving tapping grows as you’re set free.
The faces are gone, but left a pane for me,
This mirror once held both our faces to see
But now our reflection only reveals disease.