Seconds of Dust


Stress rash as the hours disappear out of reach. Dreams of glory whilst living the life of no one. Sucking on a cigarette as anxiety forces my hand to write words that aren’t forthcoming. All that was needed was sleep, yet the mind has final say. Boring lovers, not really lovers. Romance the same, they do as others do. Repeat like it were something meaningful. Fit in. Forced smiles. Become objects, and lose who you really are. The only opinion that matters is your own, so ignore everyone else’s. If you don’t feel it, don’t do it. A few come along who dig deeper, but only a few. The rest will only make you in their own image, even if you can’t see it. The insects you call home, because you’re too afraid to stand on your own two feet. Brush them off, gob in their eyes. Never become how others imagine you. Not even if it leaves you high and dry. Always remain. Always be faithful to the face you have worn since the very beginning. They intrigue, yet they have nothing to say. The same, always the same. Billions of atoms. Trillions and trillions of whatever doing it the same and the same and the same. Step back, and take a taste of something else. Walk with me, and answer to no one. Strip back the needs of the many, and focus on only the needs of you. Artists have no country, they have no home. They belong nowhere, and they speak only of what others can never say. Stand up, and be something more. The only place we ever belong is in each others arms. What comes next is death. The choice is simple. We flirt with it so much. Sex so appealing, yet all it does is prepare us for a time of no reply. Breath slow with eyes open to everything, and prepare for what comes next.

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