There’s no scarcity of meaning
with stage lights dimmed
and hedonism cancelled,
just absence of distraction.

Chase emotion to find purpose,
scour for desire, feel the caustic scrub
tearing away the guises
you adopted to be adored
push away the inclinations implanted by
the attraction of normative function.

We’re little more than sentience in a skinsuit
pick at the fruit that leaves you more than sated,
chase feeling, on your own trajectory
don’t compete with people you never saw at the starting line,
who you’ll never see at the finish.
You’ll only prove the point
that we’ve disjointed until we’ve forgotten  
everything but passion is just decoration.