Pleasantries in Confusion

The stars can not see fingers interlaced,

nor do they hear all consumed thoughts, already replaced.

He wears his smile as though a uniform,

though what does such a uniform stand for?

The song in his eyes,

is the spirit that lies,

in honesty,

or, a kindness?

All words come out in rythems,

with no beat except for bars from prisons.

Nothing makes so much sense, as it had,

but would you tell me that all confusions bad?

Goosebumps rise, naming me cold.

Memories strive in stories untold.

Assumption flies,

as prices rise,

in undiscovered gold.

The wind coos lakes to sleep,

do you jump,

or fall,

from a cliff so steep?