Terrible:
Has it any worth?
It?
Has it any value anymore at all?
It?
Has it anything left in its shadowing capacity—
where is the fortitude cleansed by grace?
There lies some sort of power overcome by a vacuuming guilt
riddled with shame intangible and abstract—
It does not seem to matter,
it does not seem to do so.
For all the care in the world left out in the open
therein are the lies.
Kind words and friendly eyes made of illusion
The double-edged sword seemed made to stab only it
It?
It has a name;
they do.
In silence: remember…