Crowded, foggy, checkerboarded screens- all showing the death of the individual and the eyes of the new-born kids who follow more people than last time, more crowded desires and confusion are shared, an exchanged glance and a quick darting of the eyes in another direction, the made-up face you have come to hate, the small explosion of tears you wish you could have, the little number of years you have lived, the large portion of time you spend wishing you were asleep and not awake. It won't be long until your heart murmurs for the last time And you'll forget what was dreamt And what was felt And you will move along And take a journey of your own And feel similar spectrums of apathy And sadness And love And un-comfort And warm insides And regret And lust And yearning And longing And wanting. You will never find yourself but you will find companions and maybe even a place to call home. At least a place that is yours, with doors, floors, walls and tables.
