the subtle difference between

a thought and a

whisper

seperate the

angel and phantom.

 

Who once was genuine

has become spectacle

a shadow dancing from candle light

in a four-walled cave of my own design.

 

Nights like these bring new clarity and

understanding,

new categories for old problems

and old people.

 

What once was an angel,

conversation dancing off moist lips

and engaging my own heart,

now cackles and spits venom through

forked

fucked

tongues.

 

The very words

a series of missles aimed with no particular

malice or accuracy,

but deadly nonetheless.