the rain descends like snapping fingers in a poetry house
as an empty face falls to the sparse grey around me
i can list ten thousand reasons not to remember your name
welcome, sweet genevieve, to the other side of the shallowdeep

this lackluster charity work that we cannot seem to leave alone
all those around us beseeching our help and bitterly denying
please take me away with you to a place where they cannot find us
empty the warrens and cause mass hysteria to blind them

your sick-sullen gratitude feigns false filthy truths
since you seem to forget i can see behind your disguise
like little white spiders that creep around that cankerous mouth
slow-weaving a silky web for my ears to put to bed those lies

disconnected from the machine that you call family
isolatation for debugging of flawed logic
never finding true compassion in any of the usual places
you will find you are the product of several wasted generations