Your efforts to be oblivious of me
To dress a minor wound,
To maintain with sweaty fingers,
your disillusioned pride.
...
Closed mouths give way to stale breath
abandoned homes will welcome decay
...
Silence
Your efforts to be oblivious of me
To dress a minor wound,
To maintain with sweaty fingers,
your disillusioned pride.
Your head is down,
willing
against my stare
At times I wish
my eyes would
pierce through you
reading you
But instead they do so
to me
Oh the silence,
the work it takes!
to be blank
and give way
either way
to what is
unsaid
At every angle you glance
and do not see
Every step you take
pulls you from your destiny
I laugh at your foolishness
but you are a child
And though as much as I deny
I am one too
for if I wasn't
I wouldn't care,
and I wouldn't be writing this to you.