Alas, poor Yorick!

You are deemed guilty of letting
Truth to be stretched like a season
Of soaps, as though the world turns
Around you. Must life have reason?
There is no rhythm to neither
Your deceit nor your cowardly tears.
And yet, is it a lie? Or perhaps
It's the truth hidden beneath fear.
For your words are threadbare and
Tolerance wanes and there is nothing
To give voice, to breathe out a cry
For... something. Anything.