All of them hiding and filled with regret.

Most of them glazed and fixed on prizes too lazy to capture; the dirty ideals of million flashes of corporate propaganda. The sickness growing in the irises of malcontent is repugnant to me. I bulk from the gazes of people of would just as soon smash in the face-if only to make them feel something real.

So keep dancing pretenders.

I'll be here to watch and catalog your foolhardy attempts at drama and love. I'll stand around waiting to hear the one good thing you ever say. I will stay it to myself.

I see a hundred eyes
made under the dark cloud sky
No one to tell how
all things to show me why
These faces here lost
some most like many others
I see hundred eyes
Lovers, sisters, brothers



What!? I'm no fucking poet.

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