Part I.

[thesyllogism]

Wash

Failed attempts to slowly massage out that which is killing you
leads to this now -
the ripping of band aids.
I'm a clever jester,
the clown of profound,
but the makeup never seems to come off.
My focus is daring, a startling injection
at the root of.
Its the push and pull that zeroes in,
aim precise,
scanning for the weak spots.
Leads to this now -
the ripping of band aids,
the force of will,
wounds that will heal when you tell them to.
Its power that cannot be negated,
the worst of them all.
But over and over in my head it plays,
the face of stone
the face of stone
the face of stone.
Detachment attaches itself ;
wounds will heal when you tell them to.
Round robin it goes,
"he could get anyone to do anything he wanted ..."
lulled into sleep.
Hiding face down between the tracks of the oncoming trains.