I am a well, almost dry, from which no lasting life has sprung.
I am an object of no desire.
I am a short and miscalculated sum.

I give no comfort; joyless, for I am an empty ***.
The numbness never passes.
I am a fire that burns, but never gets hot.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

No matter your perspective, or the strength of your connections,
In the dark,
In the silence,
We are all of us alone.

If you’re part of a collective, if you share strong predilections,
Whether hopeful,
Whether hateful,
We’re, in all our truth, alone.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I no longer bend.
I only break.
I see no further
Steps to take.
And every thought
Seems a mistake.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

I never got to know me,
And now there’s little of me left.
But I cannot cry injustice,
Or brutality, or theft.

It was merely that I hid behind
Whatever I could find.
And how could I think to reach myself
When I’ve never really known my mind.

I know he loves me, though I know not why.
And the voice inside is cruel and cold.
I scrape it out. It builds again.
I create new wounds out of those that are old.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all that I see offered me.

My words are wrong.
My thoughts are wrong.
My perspective is a mess of sand.

I can’t **** the parts selectively,
But I can **** it all,
Or else make it bland.

And I will take the blame,
For it’s all I ever could see offered me.

A torrent, and a tyrant, and a flying blade of ice,
With the handle so far below me I can’t hear the screamed advice.
A vicious price to pay. A malicious form to sign.
If the fire doesn’t burn you, just sign on the dotted line.

Freaks and friends, and common sense.
An open book.
A lesson leant.
Forget all the noise and clutter,

Then forget the line.

The line is bent.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am weathered. I am worn.
I am stuffed with seeping sadness, and stewed in sticky, seething scorn.

I am deflated. Thoughts debunked.
And I am drowned in desperate dread.  
When I soak my roots in water, I find it dries them out instead.

I am wilted. I am weary.
I am wilted. I am worn.

The longest, driest drought could not truly parch my lands.
So nourished are they by your warm, rich waters.

The coldest, harshest winter could not **** the life in my burrows.
So heated are they by your soft, cozy down.

The deepest, darkest night could not deny my eyes sight.
So filled are they by your radiant light.

So though the surface is cracked, and bodies barely stir,
Though my hands must reach out to find their way.

Though hope is far in the distance, and perhaps only a mirage.
Though words may come slowly, and meaning is a scavenger hunt,

There is life below.
There is life within.
There is life, mine bound to yours.
We begin. We end. We begin.

Into fog, and in a fugue,
We flee from the fire,
Or watch from a distance
As the flames grow higher.
Our sight is short.
Our wants are many.
But if we don’t compromise,
We won’t have any.

When we feel what it is
To truly need
Perhaps we’ll find the strength
To stave off greed.
Our priorities are muddled.
Our fears feed our fight.
We become befuddled,
And forget what’s right.

We’re damaged, victimized,
And we can’t look away.
We welcome comforting lies,
And what famous faces say.
And we can’t understand
Why they don’t see what we see,
As the others hold hands
And dance
On the grave of democracy.