Zero.

Caged in ragged, jagged
thoughts,
An edge, like razor, but
all is for naught...

Last in line, but keeping
alive,
Distance, pained, in step,
but does it jive?

Last, but not least, in
word and form,
late to the feast, just
in time to meet
the beast...

Conscious and stained,
reeling and pained,
Distant and shamed...

Keeping it all alive, but
does it ever really
jive?
Give it to the count of
five...

Strange, but the range is
unclear,
Distant again, but oh so
near...

Watered down, stitches,
Somewhere inside, twitches,
Aspects and Archetypes,
snitches...

At war in there, that self
somewhere,
Rolling and laughing without
a damn care,
Just waiting for the next
big snare...
-END-
(C) D.C. Chapman
2/10/2013