We exist
each in exile.
Bruised hearts
weakened
by time,
injustice,
cruelty,
or the simple act
of living.
Fated
to see the inevitable,
death
in all things.
The decay
of both flesh and ideas.
Though our bodies
scream for connection,
our minds
are buried
by this weight
of knowing.
Our futile need
for acceptance
and want
for hope.
A fantasy
that this time,
will be
different.
So we stand
on the precipice.
To risk chance,
the fools gamble.
Born of blind will
and desire.
An impossible choice.
The rejection
of all we have learned.
Or the safety
to languish forever
alone
under an indifferent
sky of stars.