The Middle

By Blaine Anderson 

In Memory of Jillian Nicole Worley

The beginning insinuates false pretenses of perfection 

Our alignment is contiguous with dissonance and perception 

Our vulnerabilities are a mere spectacle for exploitation 

Our life audience constructs the script 

Somewhere in the middle, we dull deceptions, variably 

Enough, to forge affinity for camaraderie 

This interlude is love’s nucleus, our heart 

 At this point, forever proves to be fabricated

The Middle is a fragment of our minds 

We reach for the memory, intangible 

It’s the middle we build our chronicle

The ending alludes to conclusion