Spoken of in a High Manner

I’ve come to know their faces by now. Turmoil like none other; decorations. Talk to them and they turn to stone. Give them a smile and they fall apart. They are the ones that don’t have their heart. Hold their hand when they feel cold. I only know what I think is right with them. I’m trapped in their endless throes. This misery has consumed me and yet- Time keeps going and I keep breathing. I fear that they’ll lose themselves in it. But they always come through the darkness. How are you supposed to live, though- When you feel like you’ve already died? Are you supposed to smile for their sake? Even when they won’t even make contact. Eyes distant, mouth pursed shut and forgotten. When you can’t even hear their voice. You can’t read minds if you can’t read lips. Can’t see hearts if you can’t take tips. Can’t be wise if you’re not yourself. Can’t be that one if they want another. How are you supposed to live- When you feel like you’ve already died?