Crusade of Silence

Intuition is my curse. 

That's sending hints in subtle bursts.

It's motivating compromise like the shifting colors are my eyes.

Severed ties and several lies.

I gathered them and never cried.

Scampered off into the night,

gripping borrowed pillow tight,

wielding smiles like a knife and

slicing when the time was right.

Nostalgic for the dreams I had but they were just some ever-fleeting, empty feeling, wisp of sorts. On a distant beating.

Let me help you imagine a better place.

Floating in time there's a jester without a face.

Snuffing the pain with some artful hysterics, tallying friends, and then rallying merit.

While dancing through a broken palace at the angry kings request to will his heart to fade and callus.

Shamefully, he forgets to rest.