Storybooks

Those storybooks adorn our shelves
In which we sail across rough seas
And sit astride storms, stubbornness
Will not defeat these avenging oceans
With a slow, cathartic release of emotions
These romanticisms become cancers
Lies disguised as candour, diving
Into streams of blood and flowing
Through our veins and this is the fluid
In which we meet each other
In which we greet each other
In which we embrace. These salutations
Are out of place

Discordant in these dark days
In which death is an omnipotent,
Limbless sea creature that slips
Beneath the skin and worms
Its way within. We grow thin
And the strip lights grow dim
We are paying for every sin

Committed on this granite planet
In a world made of stone
And splintered bone
We will die alone.