Meanwhile

Betrayal flavours all. There is nothing more to be said about the one who walks our darkest alleys that each of these poems dont already whisper of. Theyre nearsilent but listen to their dark hues that spread light on every form of this everblack atrocity. We try to forget that it lurks a mist that weakens takes and breaks parts of us into shards sharp enough to tear away the rest. Broken promises wrong directions purple lies soiled signs and shattered crayondreams. Love is always a victim you see she likes attention so her pain is well known. But there are those that dwell in the intricacies of our minds that also fall prey to the dark. Friendship has he never been bruised Or even hope whose wings tempt the liar the thief and the mother of doubt Courage can soon enough be proven a fool and joy an idiot. But the one who bleeds more often than not is the mirrors portrait. Think about it how often have you lied to you The Shepherd Lies. Oh yes he does and we know it. Someone is to bleed and though we know that too we forget that we are all soft bleating lambs in masquerade. No one is safe and the axe strikes fast each time carving away a precious piece that only then we realise we needed. Each poem has a story to tell. How you taste the words is for you to decide. I can only hope that the muse is satisfied with what she writes through my insignificance. But do tell Do they speak to you Can you see it too Or has the Shepherd tainted your canvas little lamb