It happens when you’re not looking. Unaltered shadows and bodies that speak of employment. Lift up her skirt and witness the cables and computer screens that have replaced her sex. Lose yourself not in expression but the life pursuit of money. That’s what you say, hey? Photographs of identical beings, of ignorance and want. Let the dead grow old. Let her drink to remember and fuck to forget. Depth of feeling is something of a commodity in these parts; something once known but now left to scatter aimlessly in the wind. Suffer those that know no emotion. It’s a beautiful life at times, but only if your most treasured memory is that of a smile. Forgive me for the time I’ve wasted, and allow me a chance to better myself before the dark hand of time comes and takes what it wants. Keep a vision and live by it. Smash those mirrors and burn all effigies. Find a place no one knows. Sing a song that cuts through the dust so we may rejoice in the hands of The Great Redeemer. When she’s not looking, cut her clothes to shreds and flush her tedious trinkets down the toilet. She writes bad poetry, so I sit with her through the night and help make it better. Each and every day, we do it again and again until it makes sense. The Myth of Sisyphus; the journey from fool to a magician. Look into my eyes and know this whole pretence means nothing. They say you’re not depressed, that you just need a good seeing to. I agree with the latter. In the confines of our room, none of it matters. This world doesn’t belong to us. The same old malaise- the same half-hearted conversations. Snuff it out. Take a bath and think of a number between one and ten. Be real even when it hurts more than ever.