Made of Ash

Robbed.
Crumbling in an empty sea
Drowning as useless cartilage fails in its purpose
No limbs to beat against directionless waves
Only knees to bleed as evaporated rubble cuts and scars

There is nothing here-
No signs, no mileage known from here to anywhere.
There is only bleak, cotton-mouthed air
Tearing into a windpipe, that for the first time,
Contemplates the meaning of 'end'.

Biochemistry is brutal
Robbing sense as effectively as a knife to the throat
Random targets bust themselves,
Empathy, a cloudy morning from a time long gone.
Fucked by the wayside, and fucked again

This is a world where words die
Meaning, means nothing. And Catharsis eludes... perhaps, eternally
A banging of heads would only create music
As it is the broken parts that simmer still in their maniacal state
Sharp-edged, cruel, and hunting weakness

Omnipotent poison oozes
The intuitive filters of yesterday edit the edited
Free reign for brazen hideousness: come one, come all.
I am all those words that used to hold weight
Pinned to a dilapidated and abandoned hovel.

Beliefs are hand-picked, born of unseen whims
The whiff of sunshine does exist, in a place where mood might wander
But not here, not here in this land of unfiltered mania
Bereft with accusation and derogatory contempt.

There was nothing to be seen 'coming'
No prevention of incorrigible misunderstandings
Only loss.
Loss of love, loss of safety, loss of sweetness, loss of life
The way it was once known.

Memory raped by the suppression of crimes long gone
To a harmless being with a courageous fire.
The offenders, made of ash and ugly energy
Robbed too much of one bare-knuckled survivor.
And I have never known hate as I do now.