let me know what it is to be loved, to be treasured --
for i have never known a treasure of my own, nor have i ever
been another's --
if i could kiss the gossamer skies and they would spill the blood
of my eyes and my palms into the ground
if that would lead me
to a faded red 'x' somewhere along a torn,
yellow map
so be it
for i am lost
for i am lost
for i am lost
for my soul is dirtied
and my tongue is an artificial silver
and my knuckles are bruised and purple
there is no compassion
when there is no will
to be compassionate
to show compassion
to know compassion
to act on compassion
as if it were the last hope
we sinners could ever have
of resting in this godforsaken world
because that is simply not
us
we are the monsters underneath
children's beds
and we are the saints
of snakes among the living
the zombies of the undead
the gods of whatever dying wasteland there is
and i am the jester
that entertains
for a court
filled with ghosts
i hold no treasure
and do not seek it
maybe that is why
i am not anything more
but maybe that is why
i am not anything less
