Familiar Templates

orphans scratch out the tenuous diaries of circumstance and skin. 

no silver fists to prove our mettle. nor tattered buckets in which to collect our missing pieces. 

we continue to chase the world. even as its claws shred our flesh. stiffened by corners that only get sharper. 

paupers of why in an aristocracy of when. 

their faces all gone. their lies long since spent. 

the premise is corrupt.  

the end yawns and we are discarded. 

trembling blades in a forgotten war. 

we say we don't remember. 

as time slits its wrists and bleeds all over us.