Infatuation
See it shining into the grey that is every daya glint of something that isn’t background noiseit almost wakes you it has
Rambling
Lenses
Seeing life through lenses that only the poor children have Third hand Velcro shoes and can’t even see the better halves Cardboard
Signals
I’ve been listeningevery time that you spokeyour virtue signalsare nothing but smoke The nattering of you fertilemind is in the plottingyou’ll only
Ghosts
I wake every morning and face your ghost A reminder each day what is gone Another memory not lost, but archived away
The Tide
Rolling in washing over inevitable force flowing into every conscious moment. finding who I am destroying who I was supposed to be