Icky.

So I met this man, and later that evening this came out.

Poison pools in the corners of your eyes,
drawing a hidden tear from mine.
We’re related, you and I, though pulled from different corners—
this common thing humanity.
So when the venom spills from your lips
it burns the cracks in mine,
thins the air moving to my lungs,
shames me as the speaker.
Beyond the rock in my stomach and
my fingers interlocked so you won’t notice the shaking,
more powerful is a question.
An absolute need to know
how a common soul comes to rest upon
thoughts so corrosive as to
dissolve a spirit.
You hear my question, unknown to you.
Kindly, you even answer:
The rugged cliffs around us
did not carve this into your mind,
the desert heat
did not burn this upon your skin,
no creature that crawls leaps runs swims flies
whispered this in your ear.

Your truth: Some people are just worthless.

If my heart sank before,
it now lies somewhere far away—
still, unmoving on the path behind us.
Those who taught you to hate
(the one true weapon of mass destruction)
are more kin, more of the same blood.
Members of humanity who sold their humanness.
Not a new revelation
but a further blow to a heart that knows
you and I are one and the same.
You and I are one and the same.
An idea momentarily impossible to absorb
with my feet planted on this dirt path
and your words
shards of glass
cracking within.
Slivers, like needles, screaming

Love has become a commodity.