Ment

A word to the whisperer
Is not a word to the wise,
It's taken my wishes
And left only flies

A cloud of shadow settles
Over my hope
And all I can think of
Is a clenching rope.

Pills made of money,
Homeopathy of the soul;
Keep making promises
To fill gaping holes

But break the word
That you never gave...
I've fallen from grace
And hit the pave...