Whirls of smoke have sidled our brains
Leaving emptiness
Nights of withering inconsequence
Tinted with ghastly strokes of melancholy wit
As we grasp for more, addicted
Believers in merriment, but to no end

Fooled. The past has gone
Ah! But we are stuck, bitter nostalgics
Laughing at the times past, when we strove
Happy, for entertainment,
And stumbled'pon narcotics
I feel I have seen the failures in our ways

We've no love like we did once
But you each remain
Staunch defenders, heads spinning  
Single minded in your quest
Sober you are morose, reticent
But what merriment is brought?

Why did I take this rending smoke?
For these tired looks, into nothingness
As we recede into bubbles of self-indulgence?
We disconnect, and throw away all reciprocity
As weeds paucity causes faces to turn yonder
Or to themselves in sadness.

Is it that we are dying?
Or will be be forever stuck, in this eternal stupor?

What can stir us from these technological wonders
That light our faces in our self-absorbed, transfixed stares?
With comfort paramount, and misery found
In repressed echoings of a warmer, better place, away
From the throes of competition fought with tooth and claw
For meaningless aspects

Far from the yelps of laughter
The endless, choked machinations
The giggles and dreams of helpless schoolboys
They are only found to us when **** is plentiful
Those days have receded, like us
Away from our sight and our thoughts

We don’t embrace the life we give eachother in company
As we could, no,
Stinginess and selfishness are first
We don’t create a sound
As much as we engulf others
In our stream of subtle consciousness
Is this what you wish for?
A world of these faces staring, cold, tired
Is this what you think of?
When you dream of some stoner’s Utopia?

Or does malice engulf us too much to look upon ourselves as we do others
With phased memories that act as barriers to progression
And our life.                                                            ­                                         My friend
Your flat face may turn from this to silent, personal mutterings
Of cursed levity
As you are cursed with a ghostly heart.
You should not utter a word of revile
Or turn yourself up in sneers

Trust in what I tell, with honest roused from my soul
And do not take it in passing
Like you so turgidly and heedlessly do all things
Crying hope shattered in these passing moments
With evil beyond compare,
Incarnate in your expression,

Do not, my friend
Look upon me with the icy malice of derisiveness
Nor with the shallow, empty eyes of hedonistic senselessness
No, brother, instead realize
With momentary individualism, the gravity, at least to me
Of these words. I speak morbid
Of my, our humanity, in our restless silence
And our uttered oaths and in our artifice of the tongue
And in all things that shiver my blood to even think of

If it is so that our acquaintance is founded on a passionate whim
On a fairy’s wing, on the smothered apparition of a dream
And not grounded in earthly brotherhood,
Reposed of efforts of the mind
Then this is the end for us, brother
For I will no longer cut my heart across this herb, turncoat
As you have, in its infirmity
And cold infer’nality

There's a sadness
and I always know when she's coming.
She's on the door, asking for some space
"I don't need a lot, just a little bit", she whispers.
No answers.
She starts to scream.

I'm always caught up trying to decide if I let her in or throw her out. She always catches me at this very point, when it's usually too late: I'm back in the grave.

It's a ocean of feelings, of nostalgics old times, of who I was, who I want to be and who I'm becoming. It's slowly making me float at the same station: Me.

She caught me. I'm hers.
I'm trying to be healthy and happy and wish happiness for everyone... But this bravery, my dear... How could I?

It turns out that, night falls like this I  don't seem to have the strength to fight it. There's just sadness. She caught me. I'm hers again.

Just there after, the lights dim down to a nearly indiscriminate fade.

The hush falls on the crowd like a falling line of dominos.

It’s the same reaction every time it plays

The nostalgics movies’ nostalgic rerun

Where one might be able to separate the self

But the memory plays heavy none the less.



We are standing in the kitchen

And I can see the sun catching the horizon

Just above the mountains and just before

The sun slides into the night.

Water boiled rapidly on the stove and

The air was drenched in steam and shame.



I wonder if you think about saying that

Or even think of it at all

Replay it, dim the lights,

Replay it, quiet the noise,

Replay it, and find your answer.

Your words repeat in mind without fail



In sips of quiet spaces, in moves of loud pockets.

The movie reel continues on

But is never without the clip

The lid of the boiling ***

Idles between stable and not.