digging through the pavement
with our fingers
we have nothing to show
but asphalt underneath our nails.

sometime's we're attracted,
but mostly we're distracted.

insignificant figures torn
from the edges of what we call reality
wanting to be something more,
only to be left in the dark to struggle with the bends.

sometime's we're alive,
but mostly we're dead.

heavy waves of realization
scorn the oblivious into truth
proving the lack of worth
with each stroke
everything shades itself out
before anyone can think again.