Fractured Truth.

A new kind of survival mode arises
as weak fights off weakest.
The staunch scent of death
rises through the breath of innocent passers by.
A curious couple momentarily pauses to peer
into the looking glass,
unaware that the reflection revealed
portrays only their truest reality, distorted.

Lies drip easily off the tongue
like pearls elegantly strung linger around the neck.
Fiery darts soar victoriously
while the clean-up crew stands by.

"Move along, folks. Nothin' here to see;
just death in this life of a mess."

Redemption.

He who knew no sin
was pierced for mine.
The blood He shed
pooled from my stains.

His sacrifice
was no small price.
My loss is no small gain.

The hands that bear
the scars of scorn
are my only saving grace,
my only healing,
my only hope.