It's a burden,

assumed omniscience,

which inflates the tender ego.

 

Watch as the personality,

breaks down on the side,

of the common road,

under its weight.

 

The solution doesn't surface,

a submarine long since torpedoed;

the death rattle of your love life.

 

Maybe there wasn't a solution.

Imagine years spent

three steps ahead

only to realize that

the race is a lie.

 

Three steps ahead became

three steps above or away,

but it didn't matter in the end,

it was only relative to zero.

 

And now who is laughing? 

I can't see them but I hear

strange, strange echoes

of love and ignorance

not so blissful

or needed.

 

There was a point to the story,

I told myself,

as I lay down under the siege

of an enigmatic stream of consciousness,

that somewhere is broken,

and all too complete.

 

It's bent on destruction,

it's own, yours, or the delicate

break-down of my loved ones.

 

A battle tonight became a victory,

and the wolves danced as sheeps

following a failure too obvious and unsung.

 

Silence is golden,

even when shrouded by

bronze defeat.