Medley

I would like to tell you how I feel,
But I feel nothing,
And who would care either way?
Lost in this smog of apathy.

Nourished on dead trees,
On famished alms,
A scribbled note in the margins,
Coddled and coy by chance indifference,
A soul bereft of soul,
Looking for a corner of spider webs to die in.

Desecrated by sidelong glances and cold silence,
A man immune to loss,
Being loss itself,
Both victim and tormentor,
Silenced into oblivion by an impish dancer,

A girl cursing herself,
And twice cursing others,
Standing in a field of the corpses
Of her thrice cursed lovers.

Under an autumn sky,
A medley of blue and hazel,
The hiss of the wind scattering the bone marrow
In whirlwinds down a road strewn with riddles.