Behind

No, you couldn't tell.
So quiet behind the sheet,
quick to judge, slow to follow
the movement of their feet.

Signs lay trapped on the street,
rounded corners now broken bones;
They aren't looking for the beginning
the end didn't leave them so alone.

Pink clouds hide a half-baked home
when the sun collapses luck is grey.
Dark brings an awkward reckoning,
not the questions exposed by day.

Cover up the wayward prey,
the eyes that have no sleep.
Marks on skin and emptiness
follow me like sheep.

Behind the broken bed they keep,
the flowers they've misplaced bloom
back to when they were born,
leaving all too soon.

Questioning shapes in the moon,
once had lived but left behind,
on the street of lost intention
where no one knows has time.