what if it was all for mental health?

the disappearing acts

the weightlessness of love as its felt

the masquerades of a thousand moments

how could someone ever adequatley tell

all that they've received & dealt

like gift baskets littered the stairwell

I just didn't have the patience to help

alone again

as if this feeling ever corrected

I could write for hours on the times

I’ve felt neglected

I imagine we all could

self pity,hatred & doubt

those feelings you never truly vocalize

let alone get out

I think this country is founded on it

the willingness to overlook karma

what if its all for a trophy shelf?

the reformation of craft

the weight of the mast that sails us into the sun

masquerades of the only moments that matter

drained out by the setting months