#agent guam

Your language, you taught me,

The color’s turned into childish babble,

The kind that only infants understands amongst themselves,

The adults left behind in the connection.

But kids do age into agents;

the words into sensible conversations.

The secret, in a dispensable mind,

Until just one remains.

The language died with you.

My death meant something then.

And now it means something, to someone new.

Comfort, what am I doing here?

I thought I made it clear

That I was far gone.

Locked in,

Just held there,

Starving

Now I hear It is quiet

Muffled, disoriented?

sensation distant.

Relay distorted.

Your silhouette envelops me

Hot breath and clenched teeth

sear through my tattered nape

Fear and reverence, escape me

both you see,

Kaleidoscope, it means

That I can’t read a thing.

A (un)welcomed uncertainty

The sun it blinds me

Awakening a wist in me

But All I know