Ice caverns scrapping and scraping the back of my mind.
Respect a disillusion that I can no longer find.
How do I speak to trust…when whispers turn to face the screams.
Tell me, how is it the embedded with bedlam human claw marks…know where my faults have been?
I am just a faded albatross playing a clairvoyant…wrapped around a keeper’s neck.
Over and over. Under and under. Through and out. Nothing in doubt is what it seems.
Young, old, all spirits carry their own ashen crosses to the forehead of make believe.
Make believe in the air. Promises of graffitti etched in membranes of friends, long since gone.
Persons and their bundled parsonage chisel a tunnel from my ethical dreams.