show of supposed intention

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…

About boyfrommville

bound to a fate i cannot escape, i stop by briefly to expunge the demons... care to join me?