Flotsam

Infected, grey
defined at the edge,
desperate for a say.

A systematic dismantling
of all that is good,
before our eyes
ripped from the truth.

Most certainly tangled,
I fail to see it objectively,
but thats old news.

Its less of a crime
than years of abuse
at the hands of bullies
big or small.
Pushing through life,
until they fall.
And why not?
Afraid of themselves,
but its not always clear.
Past hate and backwards fear.

Left behind alone in a chair,
I rise and float through the air,
and soot
and water
until my breath escapes
and I am no longer here.