HIGHLY SOPHISTICATED

HIGHLY SOPHISTICATED

I just't can''t get to that space

in-between;

to the core, to the root,

this disease that are our problems.

Blame is too sloppy

to digest, or throw,

at each other.

Serving no constructive purpose:

only adding to this decomposition

of us; already in progress.

The sharp swords, of your words,

that you use, as weapons,

do little more than compound

pain and hurt.

These scars, and their damage,

have desiccated the dreams of my heart.

Laying out, all the pieces, of us,

shattered like broken glass;

arranged in shards randomly

before me.

Unsure how, or if,

damage is too done

to be undone.