The oxygen around me melts,
Peeling away the husk of the pervasive hum
That infests the air.
In the periphery of my vision,
A momentary clarity and a reeling instability;
To hell with hypocrisy.
Funny how
The pain in their eyes
troubles me more
than the deadness of my own.
People weather, I say
(With a nervous laugh)
They change;
They dull and chip;
Ultimately, they grow wise.
My scars, disfigurements will last as long as I do,
Not that you'd understand,
O you with your undamaged skin.
And I realize that my silence speaks volumes.
But it's not that I have no heart;
Nor am I tainted.
I've built walls.
And I can't afford to tear them down again.
|
|
