Islands

Some people just weren't cut
from a cloth that protected them;
that shielded them,
that deflected the cruelty
that lay before them.
Their cuts weren't crooked or jagged.
Their hearts were sewn on their
sleeves and fully exposed.
They were strip mined of their
true feelings and emotion;
pure honesty and love.
They stumbled forward on this path;
soul's worn thin,
hearts worn heavy.
They look like you and I,
but it's the eyes that give them away.
It's in the way that they don't look
past you,
but at you...through you.
They devour your words like
the ending to a murder mystery.
And sadly they'll never see things through.
They burst and bloom like fireworks
on a hot summer's night.
They begin to feel the ache.
They begin to feel the ants and worms
crawl on their skin and devour them with
each passing pour.
They follow the tracks.
This wave of mutilation,
this self destructive cog lodged deep
within them is the only thing making them
feel human.
Joseph Campbell spoke of them when
he said:
"We live as we dream, alone."
And despite modern technology
opening the freeway of global communication
they are still islands.