Paper words unfold,
from lips corroded,
melted through with kisses,
cracked and broken,
songs slip past,
refract, reflect, reform.
Have I lost my voice?
My sentences are sand,
dry over desert throat.
We whisper falsehoods,
framed in fickle fantasy.
We try to turn the clock,
back and forth, our lives...
Tick. Tick. Tick.
We hear the heartbeat,
pounding realisation,
worlds on fire with,
lust insensate, pure,
in its intensity,
the emptiness of gales,
reminds us of ourselves,
hollowed, yearning.
Chosen.
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As I stand shoulder to shoulder with my battle brothers, I am forced to wonder; Who can I trust? I am being asked to fight men who I once called comrade. I ask myself; what manner of ruin will befall us next?
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