i hear your words.
sympathy.
albeit contrived (it seems) compassion.
i even watch you manipulate gestures of benevolence.
tragic –
you declare.
so sad.
and yet the hands you could offer –
gesture of accommodation –
remain conveniently out of reach.
how is it –
my “friend”,
you cannot hear the transparency in your prearranged vows of (implied) solidarity?
i have to imagine you feel expunged from guilt –
eloquent expressions of religious conviction.
yet once the curtain closes on the show of your supposed intention;
just another empty stage.
and here.
contained within this cell of isolation –
silence thick as all alone.
and dark –
more deep than midnight without the promise of dawn…
standing too close to the edge 