Tortured Inversion

when the manner of exchange
is something other than anticipated
greater than predicted
smaller than projected

having nothing to do with truth
how can that be?

living in a world of our own design
flying blind
as
similiar orbits blow through
maybe it's better this way

is mental illness simply believing you are genius
when others realize
it's anything but
yet, say nothing
smiling without song

quiet denials, decades long

when did the latter days blend
splashing over blind blunders
in that distant place
long gone
and still,
we remember 
or at least, we think we do

promises made
laughter shared with the hope of more,
whispers spared when the sun froze...