Mental Stealth

To them, our cataclysms are invisible

they are rumors standing on the heads of psychosomatic rants.

They need certainty, a cause, a manifestation

or else my words are galleries of fantasies

this collapse is vaudeville

and the past is a cruel fiction.

Should we wear the ache where you can see it?

Should we forgo casting illusions for the sake for dispelling your doubt?

Bodies were never made for puppetry

I am not a falsehood because evidence evades your calculations.

They may shout degrading claims

“Faking it.”

“Seeking _____.” (fill in the familiar blank)

Then I’m left with a crime scene’s burden of proof

do I need to bleed to show you that I can?

Should an asteroid begin a collision course to show you it could?

Should the sun implode to show you that what gives life can take it back?

No, no, no.

Let’s not resort to wars of clashing axioms

pacifism is what I seek

but so many are born and die on this battlefield of ideals.

Maybe you’d need to wear my aura, walk in the footprints I trace

to believe that I’ve been fumbling backwards for a decade.

Otherwise

this may resemble an all-too familiar dance to you:

A waltz of phantasms,

A dribbling step into denial,

A bout of self-destruction with a deity’s grace.

Well, what do you see?