Inevitable, when someone dies:
These two suspect what no one will.
No culprit means they'll improvise
With practiced and unequalled skill.
The room they share is dim and cold
For reasons neither understands.
The first one sits, with uncontrolled
and nervous twitching in his hands.
The other leans: a prideful line
Against a distant slice of sky--
Their dark eyes knowingly define
The boundaries of truth and lie.
Suspicion lurks in every corner,
With darkness daylight can't dispell--
Then cheap clocks chime- a well paid mourner
Sings dirges in this cheap hotel.
The air between them fills with ire
And silence on a fraying thread
Is betrayed as both inquire
"Weren’t you once my only friend?"
No comments:
Post a Comment