The shadows call
The devil’s choir summons
The whispers in his head
The constant pitying looks from the corners of their eyes
Sorry after sorry, apologies splayed
As if they mend broken hearts
As if they calm troubled souls
As if they tame the raging emotions
People think they can slip past on two-faced facades
Thinking he won’t see past their false comforting hold
Believing he won’t notice their imagined situations
Assuming he won’t realize their counterfeit sympathy
Wanting to please everyone is not an easy feat
Repenting seems much simpler
But it reaches a point
Where it all boils over icy
Where it all freezes over scorching
Where the dry rain no longer quenches hunger
Where common sense is questioned
Where societal norms are revealed under new light
Where common sense no longer seems right
Where something, just a little thing, snaps
Where insides jumble into a tangled mess
Where no change shows apparent outwardly
Preying off of self deceit and continuation of all he knows
Tilting from slight smiles to tortured silence
Laughing away people’s doubts
Internally searching and seeking and coming short of an answer
Time dulls the blade’s edge
Time weakens the claw’s pull
Time stifles the banshee’s wails
Time muddies memories unforgotten
But broken blades still cut
Soft clawing leaves marks
Whispered wails shrill eerily
And all the dirt and mud piled thick
Would not erase the lines of graffiti’d concrete underneath
The sane world he lived litters with altered comprehension
No comments:
Post a Comment