You.

Unique moments
special memories
which you can reuse
share
and disperse among your chosen ones
which grow
like pools of liquid
expanding outwards
until
there is nothing left
at the place of the accident.

Delude

And bravest of all
are those who can realize
that they're just not really
all that good.

Following Narcissus

I don't understand this game of lies.

This narcissism of talentless youth.

Pressing in.

When did we all get so lonely?

That the briefest wiff of gratification can make us quiver with pride.

Children but half a score ago

With the want of more, feuling our angst

seeping from the gloss of wisdom

I simply ask for truth

To deny the contentment of ignorance

for the bliss of knowledge

Such a thick smog of excitement

careless youth

and nervous eyes.

And then once we've figured it all out

Balanced the equations

Removed the variables

Pursued it logically and without bias

There is no one left to love.

Stop digging me,

it hurts

The Concept of Time

The station. The changing place. That land of in between. Where we come to switch and trade

and wait.

Wandering listlessly through a world where time is felt far more intensely than it ever should and we, the enemies of time, are pressed against the clock-face and made

to wait.

Each passing second another reminder of our unavoidable torment. Passing through like cattle, herded by patronizing voices heard through jarring wires, violating our decided loneliness, shattering our insides. Repeating until we can stand no more, ceasing a moment only to allow the next Shepard to remind us of their own incompetence. All the while splitting the skulls of the damned that are made

to wait.

Those Days

Slipping soundlessly

Entrenched

Doomed by predetermined moods

Complaisant by means that only the stillness of quiet can allow

Lightly jolted by the caresses of conveyance

Thoughts of silence ebbing throughout dulled lobes

Scenes of sedation

A disallowance of shared experience

Dark stains deepening

Spilt by light

Fermenting through age

To a hazy dim

Incandescent washes

leaving sweeping fragrances of warmth

Through softly chilled dew

Lids collapsing

Strained by consciousness

We Listen

Between two coils

Heads entrapped by beats of the past

tangled by the ropes of our freedom

Hoping, in vain

that their static

delivers them some wisdom

beyond their measured years

Squeezing glasses of time

which can only leak

Drowning days

with the cryptic messages

of somebody else's expression

Listening to questions

in search of answers

whilst the future turns to memories

and we are left

with nothing of our youth.