Skinwalker

And at once I realize that the hand I hold is black with corruption

That the gilded rhetoric is a sibilant mantra meant to stifle guilt

That the staunch discipline of tradition is merely the coward's path

And that this descent into compromise is the death of friendship

I've witnessed you slit the throat of the young idealist

And impale empathy to the hilt of your sword

You wear a stranger's face.

Your eyes hold no recognition

Conceal the vastness of self-betrayal beneath the scientist's cloak

Beneath the scholar's mantle, beneath the hedon's frock

Drink the blood of this perverse deception

Escape in inebriation

Bonds consecrated in our most private moments

Loyalty sacrificed in the blaze of denial

My emptiness has built your altar

And I worshipped myself in you forever