It descends again,
Heavy and engulfing,
Dragging feet and drooping eyelids,
The flurry of beings gets faster as my world slows down.
Cement flows over my shoulders and suspends me in a sea of apathy.
The yoga chick has a white punting dog I hate, yet I love her.
Theres always something to kill the dream, the ideal.
Seventeen candles soaked in virgin blood are stapled to the base of my skull.
And I sit, words sliding down the back of my throat
refusing to come out with any meaning.
Hundreds of snapshots float around a map of the world,
Remembering everything I want to forget,
Forgetting everything I want to remember.
For better and for worse,
Dawn never pierces the horizon.