this

is a mess

this is an aching bubble

the air inside getting hotter and hotter

but for some reason

the bubble never bursts

this is my heart

though it may not look like it.

what you see on the street

is just a man who talks for a living

but when i come home,

my God how i think.

this is my job

i work for the man who eats his fellow man

from the tables of death.

he justifies his cannibalism telling us,

"it's just how the game is played"

when he's the one making the rules,

we can't hope for anything but the day we are set free.

and when this is finished

you and i will come home,

we'll say grace,

we'll say goodnight.

and all anyone will know of us

is that we did our best

to survive.

but you and i will know

how we loved.