Let us compare notes, compare answers,
jot down first impressions, measures of dysfunction.
Who is guiltiest of what?
Who can be charged for what crime? Too late is too late.
The jury isn't out because there never was a jury.
And that's the twist. No one has judged you,
ashes blown into the sea. We are threadbare,
a testament of obscurity.
While you die slowly, we carve
memories into the bones,
fingerpaint our confusion.
Your conscience is annoying but
at least you think it's clean.
These are the measures of dysfunction.