I hate that I can never run away from dysfunction.
It has a dog like way of finding me,
especially when I'm lost.
It has infected my best of friends,
poisoned my family ties,
and tainted me.
I remember a time when I could filter
the pure from the toxic.
Now they have blended,
no longer maquerading as pure,
openly lethal.
There once was a time
when I knew the warning symptoms
in its victims.
Every face has a story.
A story no better,
no worse than my own.
Just different.
Maybe just as wicked.
Their faces glazed,
sometimes absent eyes.
Black eye sockets and green faces.
Death set into the lines of their smiles.
A horror hiding behind their tongues.
Ears clotted,
scabbed over ear drums.
And veins, oh the veins.
Once blue now fading into
the most sinister shade of red.
Red road map veins wrapping
round and round.
Criss crossing their arms.
The same arms that were always
Reaching,
Striving,
Stretching.
Fighting for love like starved animals.
Bodies sick with dysfunction,
Waiting,
Forgetting.
Ready to love again.