The Predicament

The predicament:
Breeding jealousy
On a triangular plane,
Fuzzed by swooshing bushes,
Grizzled by boars and bears.

The predicament:
The compass, skewed.
My navigator, flummoxed.

Lingering
In the gangland of escapism
Where pretense reigns,
And imagination traversed to the next world.

While filling a void,
We wait
For the right time
To unbury our limbs
From the riddling mud

But punctured by realizations,
The earth tastes the first drop of my blood.
Bleeding has begun.