I am the infamous foreboding,
my shadow moves among emphatics.
My smile speaks the cynics of swine.

I am the universal disorder,
that caresses the mind,
feeding the foul joy kill.

I am a forgotten soldier,
my bent broken bones carry me still.

I am a maker of misfortune,
whose shadows dance plenty in blind figures.

Gracing atop pale fingers,
we’ve got this all on our minds.
Placing it all on no one’s shoulders,
we got the life that’s speaking right in between the lines.

We’re problematic naysayers,
with thanks and plea.
There’s nowhere to direct our prayers,

That’s what’s there for you and me.

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