BB Grey–musings

In war, you wear two faces—casualty, survivor. In peace, only one remains, and it weighs heavier.

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Pain drifts in—
neither enemy nor friend,
a shadow cast
by the flickering lamp of existence.

A war without armies,
fought in silence,
where each breath is death
and resurrection.

The lungs whisper, why?
No answer comes.

Eyes in the dark—
promising nothing,
searching endlessly
for the fracture that makes you human.

Dreams spill, wheels rolling nowhere,
a machinery of faith rusted still.
You try again—
not from hope,
but because the hand reaches
when the heart has stopped caring.

Do you believe
in a heaven six feet down,
where worms know eternity
better than saints?

Forget angels—
the earth has wings
and buries them in you.

Love often, love poorly,
love until the hole in your soul
leaks light onto the ground,
and you see the floor
has been collecting you all along.

The world hums its secret rhythm,
but absence sings louder.
I miss you—
or the part of me
that once believed in you.

You hand me rope—
a strange mercy.
A noose too loose to kill,
too tight to ignore,
frayed like the mind,
taut between meaning and madness.

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