The Trechery of Perspective

we see through time's fractured lens. idle phantoms in the flesh of when. icicles under the eaves of trust. 

we are the creases in someone else's maps. abandoned destinations in the abattoir of consent. sweat on the lips of spoiled gods. 

we suffocate in small places. only measured in deceit. 

we feast on the simple poisons. that charm earnest graves. 

we dance in love's torn dresses. to music only we can hear. 

waiting for someone to listen.