I Am All Too Ready

I find myself all too ready, as of late.
To give up everything to dust.
I think, I shall not question you further
Because this ceiling itself cannot paint the color Ignorance,
And that is all the answer you give me.
But I find that I’m not listening like I used too.
My Elvin ears were once propped open to your sweet melodic honeydew.
I confess now, I hear sirens of anchored conformation,
And feel emptying of blood on my surface.
I wish not to feel this gray and blue empty.
Tears are no longer my symbol for sadness, but breath
Is this what the faithless feel?
For I lack any words to defend the faith I once had.

My hands are raw from reaching blindly at sharp air hoping for
Soft hands
And now receiving stabs
Is this all that I can feel?
I do not want a half sought grin from Hamlet’s players, tapping me, and pressing me,
Into deeper felt submission.
It is the faithful now cause me fear.
The way they include, exclude, conclude me now.
When all that we end with is dust.

There’s always that.
But nothing more.