bright young thing

no sense in crying when you chose it.

you know those things you see coming a million miles away, but you think you'll try it once more to see if it turns out differently?

like getting cocky after a couple of wins.

you let your guard down.

the sky isn't quite dark enough, reflecting all those lights.

all those lights drawing us from our beds into the night.

convincing us we need something til we're blinded to stars and comets and constellations.

i dont even remember the last time i looked up beyond the trees.

hope lifts your head up to connect the dots.

or disconnect.

and i saw that it could mean all that much more and absolutely nothing.

that either we are dust and flaming stars or creations.

i have faltered and am careful and care less.

it's like anyplace this asylum of thoughts.... like anyplace new. anyplace off the beaten path, that looks a bit more or less interesting. seems a bit more dangerous. comes off a bit more insane. you know? one of those.

but it's all the same.

and i'm bored with the same outcome.

it doesn't even hurt anymore. calloused hands grab hold. and yeah, i'm tired. who wouldn't be. but it won't kill me, will it. maybe like cigarettes it kills slow. point is, it's just boring. the same thickheaded self-centered characters entering and exiting. they're good for nothing but background noise and movement. not even worth a mention as the assistant to the grip-boy in the closing credits. and i have become like them. in a headlock. defacing their value in order not to feel too sad.

it is sad.

but you get used to it.

and i'd much rather watch a comedy.