A faith in friends tumbles on like the urge in cannibals,
Wrapped up inside the bandages that sap the color from the jowls.
Around the bend, we’ll always find them,
You can’t live with them, and you can’t grow a flower without its stem.
Where do we pick up the eggs of each day to juggle, toss, to eat?
Shall we embarrass our mayor, smoke crack, but be discreet?
Or wait at the mall, school steps, the army barracks for excitement to happen?
Are you the one that starts the war, orders, and lights the dynamite, captain?
I wonder, what we’ll make of all this,
When the sun has cycled so many times,
My mind crumbles, letting in less hits the more I miss.
And the friends I once had, fall apart like broken nursery rhymes.
Will I still be hungry like the cannibal,
Or will the bandages grow part of me,
And the inner animal,
Dies inside and hardens into the mummy?