Crossed in the street, crossed in our homes
Crossed in our minds, crossed in our souls
The Ninth Circle, Cocytus, is a house of the crossed
Where "hurt people hurt people" and blame it on loss

Is it wasted empathy? To fathom their coldness?
Is it a one-sided convo? To converse with the soulless?
I see White Walkers on a mission, fueled by the gore
But it hurts even more when the skin is your own

They say it’ll be civil, I see more a Cold War
Where illegal pursuits only illegalize more
Coriolanus in a uniform, standing guard at the corner
Using "law" as a shroud for a legacy of horror

The rest keep on "civil", continuing their days
But they're part of the problem with nothing to say
Like Andersen’s children with glass in their eye
Watching families vanish while the civil stand by

Freud saw the repression, the weight of the seal
But the othering of the dark is the only thing real
A frozen connection, a disconnection of grace
The theological distance in a profiled face

I find comfort in chem, the physics of the fray
Ice always melts, and the machine goes away
Not an arrival at warmth, but a structural decay
Then the Melting Pot will be here to stay

Some day.

Some day.