Fools dig deep

The chill steel edge slicing my cheek bone
from one empty space to another empty space
a crater,
the salt stains brown
granules of wetness
on all the dried, decayed remains
evidence of a humanly existance,
buried under the flesh
the morbid embezzelments run a coarse streak
through virtue of epiphany

The puff of skin compliment the grey eyes
crow's feet leave no scars
curvatures on the face widen the empty space
filled with confident emotions
yet the exterior mirrors none within
expressions fradulent of nature
Through virtue of monotony