gestures made out of kindness
fall flat against panes of glass
that splinter in cold darkness.
no remedy exists for this.
walking away is a temporary
reprieve, a cheap escape for
weak bones to believe in
makeshift solace, a false
promise made behind
forced smiles, a dying
wish made in moments
of white dusk.
have you asked yourself lately,
does any of this mean anything?
what does any of this mean?
tonight, tell me,
what will you do
when all the birds
fly home?
By Tohm Bakelas