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The days pass like the hours wait
Still no sign of life in this forgotten house
Knees clutched to chest
The riddle is how to keep from coming home
When nothing seems to matter
Eyes stay closed
Passed out, they lie awake
But no screams can reach their ears
Silent sit the felines
For the fall of the bearings
How long can the sanity remain?
Will the dawn break the will of the broken?
Fabricated pleas are abandoned
Where else has there been a constant stream?
Do the fine lines separate the few from the lonely?
Scars haunting the witching hour
Take chase, follow the scent of phosphorus
Pour the marrows into the gutter
Little lies frozen save for the expression
Of when those dead eyes met live
And how they bade to slaughter insides
The heat dies away
All life disembarking to the greater beyond
Sleep but rebirthing the addiction
Unable to face the truth
Hide the words in the flesh
Break tide to the mocking wind
Revel in the make believe that can’t be real
Are the shouts not enough to purge a stomach clean?
Can the dream really live in a world like this?
Tresses spiral to the floor
Winded lungs shatter the silhouette
Broken syllables determine
Whether or not to stand and fight
They can’t always be won
And sometimes, no point lies in even trying
Arms shelter tears
Silence emanates from the dying in the vacant room
Is there but a word for rigor mortis if life still persists?
Light loses its integrity
The scars reappear
Nothing solves the pain in plausible space
But had there ever been a just phase?
Or were the severities long since passed on the nightless days of the lone?