we stand in our self-imposed confines of can’t.

hiding behind unable.

comfortable in the shadows of selfish inability.

and as we barricade ourselves behind facades of doesn’t matter,

we find freedom from the threat of uncomfortable accommodation.

what exactly is the point of feigned commiseration?

even with countenance of implied benevolence,

we cannot hide the audacity of insincere.

had Adam known before that fateful bite just how bitter…

suppositions.

clouds we cannot touch –

yet stumble as we lose our way in the discord of their darkness.