Alagoas

How needing of compassion are we
Who eavesdrop so obsessively
Listening in on sick men mumbling secrets to themselves in empty rooms
And what audacity
What childish sort of pride
To drop their heartache at their feet
And cast their candidness aside
And looking not into their eyes
But through the vast network of screens
We scream:
'These strange new words of yours
No longer suit our needs'
As if we were the ones they sought to please

(The cure is your own words
If it doesn't burn its not working)