The leaves carry the sounds of hope and despair. The moon looks down with voiceless intrigue as the world spins ever on to faithless obscurity. Stomach ulcers and the keys of a piano. Dead flowers before an open window with the breeze creeping in to caress your unloved face. All those tears, and the dust that collects around your bed. Sleeping to survive. The closing of eyes to keep out all that causes harm. The more you see, the more you fall apart. The more we keep going, the more we feel as though we can’t keep cheating the inevitable. So many painted faces. So many pretend smiles trying to fool the world that we’re doing okay. Everything’s fine, it’s all in its right place. Yet it’s not, and it never will be. Frightened of being alone, yet we push the ones who love us further and further away. Pornography for those who lack tenderness. Explicit imagery for those incapable of giving themselves to another. The atrocities of war a drug to blow away the cobwebs after a long day at work. Snuff out those ghosts, and fill them up with guilt. Recreate the birth of ideas with whoever takes your fancy. Demean godliness with the cheapness of release. Orgasms so plastic. Sex a currency used to enslave the weak. The stars know nothing of these horrors. They made us in death, never having to witness the birth of disease that followed a billion years after. Panic attacks and cancer. The flames of a candle like a needle in my arm. Take me away. Drag me someplace where the visions can’t follow. Let me see clearly, if only for an hour or two. Dislocate me from my madness, and let me breathe easy in your arms. Let us float to a moment in time when nothing else mattered. Childhood blue skies. The innocence of ignorance. Monsters under the bed, not inside our heads.