The Nightly Show

barraged by the deafening
blasts
of weaponry and shouting
only to be paralleled by
private jokes and the exchange
of pointless lingo.
my smile has become nothing
more than what a clown
paints on his face.
it feels as though I am slowly
sifting through sand;
the wire pierces, yet draws no blood.
I would give anything for that first look,
or the sensation of
feeling you fall in love with me
once more
I never minded before
when I was a part of everything,
when there was time for a
sweet stolen kiss,
or a whispered sentiment.
the pastimes of "men" have become
your lovers over me.
as I sift through the wire,
I shatter and dissipate
amongst the rocks,
and all you are left with
is a paint-faced, straw-topped puppet
begging to be stuffed.

february 18, 2012