Define the emotion OK interprets.
And when exactly people understood the comings and goings of feelings in general.
How can one understand others.
When an emotional war is being fought on two fronts.
Each bleeding ammo and supplies.
Wasting away.
Just slow enough to have the coroner turn it away.
Nearly dead isn't applicable.
And somehow managed to feel guilty for wasting your death warrant signatures time.
As if the words would change the angle on how others viewed your life.
Only pretending others care enough to pay any mind.
Stiffles the rest of any opposition.
To make sure the dark flames imbued regret correctly..
A magician of sorts.
Only falling on swords for too long leaves little room eventually.
A reverse porcupine that crys blood when forced into moving.
But makes not a sound.
Even this can feel like nothing.
It only takes a little imagination and a dash of humanity.
And when playing god loses its hype.
Will the mob desperse.
Retreat into that in which the torches were burning just moments ago.
Only they don't extinguish.
Just remain awhile for the next hand to lift the taunting relic.
So that repetition can further solidify the obvious.
Shoudnt be long now.
As the oddly familar jester sits to watch.
Death is always a spectacle.
Whispered so softly it was hard to decide if it happened at all.
But it matters little.
For silence is all that follows.
Indifference is a disease.
Stricken with such paralyzing apathy.
That A.D.D. becomes a standard.
Take two before human interaction.
Call in the morning if the guilt remains.
Only remembering to forget can get so.... Confusing.

It isn't a game.
But one can definitely lose.
There are no competitors.
Yet self comparisons fog hind sight.
Leading to more dreary backroads that the world forgot about.
It was fun for a little while.
Telling yourself that you threw away the world and not vise versa.
Was truly the greatest lie.
One that grew into actual belief for a time.
But found that the greatest hell.
Is watching your paradise burn.
Bound only by disbelief.
Dumbfounded.
It's a shame that when you lose everything.
Somehow your mind is the only thing that stays intact.    
As if those aspects were programmed into humans in preparation for it..
And happiness got the short end of the stick.
Then to further rub dirt into the wound we create hope.
By means of pursuit.
Shakespeare knew the questions.
And left it up to everyone else to answer.
Only as generations pass.
We couldnt be further from any resemblance of an answer.
Let alone know the question has already been proposed.
Writers play with this notion and yield no two pairs alike.
Lifes most important knowledge sadly can only come from experiencing it.
But with the world in such a desensitized state.
The fear of stagnation is becoming the only real possibility.
Preposterous?
No
Predetermined the moment we chose to let others choose for us.
There is no freedom.
Only sacrifice.
Right.

The candle is almost at its end..
A once bouncing flame atop its mountain.
Now sputters for life.
Grasping at anything to just remain.
It seemed the more hands that would come to shield.
The faster the wax walls would cascade down.
Its sad..
To watch something so beautiful.
Turn grotesque.
Monsterous.
Feeding on the life force of anything it came into contact with.
Justifying the actions to build such an elaborate facade.
The creator is held by its deception.
Cultivating flaws as if it needed some appraisal.
But in the end it just lacked approval.
Washing hands in the same water the idea was brought to drown in.
Whispering sweet nothings to sooth a hemoraging mind.
But when it was the same hand that inflicted the wound.
Will this game truly turn rampant.
So long as there is a die to be cast.
The possibility of loaded questions commemorate the stacked odds.
For when the turn comes.
And the die are no longer an option.
Will the board glide away.
game over.

Everything is made from everything else.
The deep oceans of the iris.
To the integration of speech.
It all circles around the finite life people lead.
Regardless of what the self made kings and gods through the ages proclaimed.
Their ashes litter the same earth as the peasants that washed their ignorant feet.
There was no shinigami awaiting to return them to their kingdom.
All that stood before them as the last breathe was drawn were those same peasants.
Waiting for the last rites to be given so the fresh corpse could be taken to rot in a tomb.
Some shallow grave that was neither glorious nor spectacular.
The only thing it accomplished was cementing the cold fact that this life is it.
No bells or horns to guide the spirit.
No animal to hint at something greater.
Just a box.
With a pillow to ensure maximum comfort.
So when the decomposition sets in.
At least the box was pretty.
Pointless.
From one ignorant being to the rest.
Mayday.
Clear the predicted crash site.
And wait.
There will be limbs to collect.
Maybe for once.
All the pieces will be salvaged.
Not likely though.

Words are all that I have now.
My possessions.
Keepsakes.
Somehow just melded into the backdrop.
Almost to tease at how I can not touch them anymore.
Connections and romances that sputtered and died out.
Seem less painful now.
But its hard to say when this numbing reality takes hold.
Things used to be..
Exciting.
And With each year under the belt.
The world becomes less enticing.
Shrinking the grand dream into a childish fairytale.
One that doesn't end with Happily Ever After.
But with Fin.
Its almost Ironic.
Spending ever waking moment trying to please people.
Doesn't equal a happy soul.
But making the self happy that isn't diluted with every single alteration society provides.
Well.
I have yet to see what peace is and I don't believe it takes bombs to prove a point.
In conversations or otherwise.
A slap in the face can turn heads and fracture minds.
Maybe I need to revisit myself.
Sadly there are doors even I can not open.
Nor perceive.
When all that I am.
and will be.
Is wasted on words.

There is a tune in the air.
Begging the question to dance or not.
And as the swaying begins.
The song  vanishes.
But the players go on.
With no music sheets.
Or their repective sound makers.
Like watching a mime orchestra.
And somehow people continue dipping and tossing about.
As if they were dancing to masters of thier craft.
It's hard to see anyones face due to the mime make up.
Making up this entire facade of a grand ball of sorts.
Yet the more time that passes.
The less control one has of a body soon to be apart.
Apparently placebos manifest wherever this is indiffernce.
Tears fall from the cheeks of this sad mime.
Decipherring their actual presence has been difficult for some time now.
Maybe it's time to wash on a new face.
And just fade away into the crowd.
A skill that has become more useful than air.
For living has taught that equallity.
Is a myth.
And adults choose the pain of adulthood.
So it can be passed down the generations.
To spoil one more dream.
Because its wrong to believe in fairy tales.
Or much of anything.

There are just too many things that were supposed to have happened.
Arguements lurked behind every door.
Playing hide and seek with sarcasm and distrust.
A recipe to end the book titled Forever.
And even though love was still begging for attention.
The path has ended.
Most have already left the theatre.
Except for those wandering.
Wondering if there will be a tiny clip after the credits.
But the budget has long since dried up.
And the explosives took a lot of the show.
Sadly they are what hilight its runtime.
It's dark now.
The reel just looping black and white.
Waiting for the next show to replace the old.
But there will not be another.
The building has been deemed condemned..
Due to lack of upkeep.
It will remain a historic land mark.
Untouchable.
For there is little else one can do.