abbatoir of the soul

Eyes thick with the syrup of resolution bear no depth to the words which escape your lips. There is banality in my presence, an insincerity which betrays and leaves me wondering why. A friend, a lighthouse which saved, a voice in the dark. Yet too many steps, to many ditches dug to bury the bodies of mismarked effort. Aye, cut me clean and away from the island of misery.