My Fist Smells Like Graveyard

Claim your place as victim in the perverse knowledge of
Something to fall back on with hands held so loosely as i
Pour the water through so many times i tried not to wonder
Conflicts avoided words mumbled under breath truth buried
Out behind a face the advantage taken with no thought to
Rectify when the well is dry they will reattach themselves
And again the face smiles but not to mine