Here, the knife of subtlety tears ruthlessly
just like the way you have shown me,
the disguised hostility hanging heavy in the feather-light air.
But the silent can’t speak
and the blind can’t see.
The silence in the air is only a smokescreen,
the harsh reality waiting,
to catch the wary off-guard
start to slowly suffocate with the smoke of fire
and pull them down into a chaotic delirium,
drowning until the fabric between dreams and reality
the knife of awareness breaking through.