Often unheard,
Is the silent whispers
Tales of imminent endings
Trappings of your wonderings,
Amid the cloak of perfection put up.
The constant fisting into your pockets,
To where you’d thought monies ought’a be.
Ashen lips,
A testament of your frustrated needs,
Blackened lips,
Reeking of unmet promises,
Empty intimacies with the pure hearted.
Solemn.
Dog eared pages,
At oft the wrong kennel,
An ever present shadow of thy own escapism
Into a world
Bequeathing nothing
And receiving nothing.
