fixed.

i wonder where we hide
or why
and when.
where the passions flee
and we're left with
a yearning
and we don't know how to fix it.

or ourselves.

i see it in the masses.
the masks
the characters
the way we try to live
so that no one sees the way it feels
to tamp ourselves into the ground.

and the ground does nothing
but
encase
us in mounds of dirt
of what the earth once was,

but living things don't matter much
when they're buried
underground.