Ritual Exile

We held on so hard. the bleeding palms, broken fingers and downturned eyes... constantly dissecting minutia just to mask the sound of breaking hands I'm not saying I'm perfect and I'm not saying it's your fault but why keep bathing in ashes? why are you surprised to see blood underneath torn skin? just pour another round of poison, (for our own safety of course) promise again that this is all worthwhile taking aim with a regretful smile, and another longwinded praise of failure: what remains isn't passive numbness but an active absence of feeling. So go on rip and tear, rip and tear, rip and tear