Theory

Placated
are we standing
bold
in the corner
aging like books in a library:
structurally intact,
but oh the relevance lost.
You realize
this
is probably what we wanted,
we can live off the dust.
It's all pretty cancerous outside
anyway.

You got blood on your hands
from trying to help.
I understand you're lost
broken-down
and such,
but the misunderstandings are comic gold
and that is our blood.
Wasted talent
is what makes the world go round,
and I'm staying neutral.