I carry trouble and permit onus on entirety. Busted bonds and brittle boundaries like a citadel contrived in sand; An ebbing martyr to the tide. Its just another moon emerging, Dragging up the pall, Unfurling my eyes, and searing them until they're caustic and sour. Now, all this acrimony constricts around my neck Like a public hanging, And all the town is laughing, spitting, and pitching putrid viand. Because now I'm the one White-knuckle clutching the shovel, Peering at the void in the landscape, Beaming at the grave that reads "devotion". My crumbling lungs wilt as I look back.