81: We Should Crawl

The weariness slows down your sense of feeling,
the reaches of fleeing,
instead we're remote.

Pushing down anchors of guilt and compassion,
and the stubborn reaction
to this killing of hope.

Standing aside from the untouchable crew,
I want to grab their hands, but
we are mere spectators watching in the dark of the blue.

80: Honey

Hate of all hates, devoid of compulsion,
standing upright, meaning - less than your self.
The taste in our mouth subsides; your eyes jaded,
and the choking suspicion overcome.
Dear, the film stays buried as my heart.
Missing trails to the norm, left to wander within.
And it's fine, after all,
I can pick up the pieces.