Cheshire cat grins.
A snicker that tickles your ears.
Eyes of that which can only be made when the land and sky meet.
Voice like a warm blanket to my cold and distant thoughts.
Blue now brightly burning like a beacon across any stretch.
A jester of sorts,
But never to be taken for a fool.
Though we both play the game,
I continue to be the joker.
Cards firmly held in place.
Incomplete sentences float in the air.
Lips bitten til they bleed.
Piercing close the truth.
Eyes grow hungry.
Will grows weak,
Battered daily by kind words.
Strengthened only by a lingering thread of faithfulness.
That reward will wait for me.
Though the imperceptible terminus is fast approaching;
Pussyfooting around becomes the state of being.
Guilty but true.
Want. Need. Right. Wrong.
The line as blurred by my conscious state.
Fun turns to sweet torture.
Rock grown spoilt,
Hard place a pillow.
Nothing left but to wait on it…