My Frontlines

“Machete! Turn to confetti, you sentimental ferns!”
“Imprisonment to my enemies. Death to those who desert.”

AHHHHHHHHHHH, you going to say you told me so?
Or that it could have gone so differently?
Are you forgetting it’s no simple fact, not a pill swallowed so easily?

Mainly because…

No one made me wiser than the French.
And instead,
I trusted them, again, with all my worth.

No one could defend me if I went.
In guns blazing. In these white-walled mazes.
But in, I always leant. – Anyway.

It was causing casualties. Empty magazines.
I pause for some clarity – a reflection of reality.

It’s just. I can’t describe that…

I’m starting to think that the problem is me.
Can’t you trust in me?
With all your broken promises – it seems so unnecessarily complex.
To fixate on my focal point without seeing properly.

I’m starting to believe in little fantasies.
Can’t you entertain me?
With all my imagination – it seems so uncomplicated.
To stand in the spotlight, while they rattle tiny cages.

So, to speak in tongues whilst he preaches to the masses,

“Doesn’t
he
look
so
placid?!!”

But… the fact is it matters.
To me.

No one could tell, by his words, what he really meant.
It sounded so sincere, causing all to cheer.
But the words felt like eggshells on his feet.

And I’m starting to receive such hidden themes.
In short, no king would dare cough up his throne.
Or bare his skin undeath a guillotine.

And I’m tired of just nagging my inability.
To think of ways.
To understand why.

It is as it seems.
To be repeating itself.
Over.
And over.
And over.
And over

Again.

Because the end…
Always feels too complete.