Street lights shed no light of vision. The cold wind blocked, but you remember every moment. Was there ever a time? Or has it always been like this? Tonight the bottle offers no answers; these were the decisions you said you could handle. This was the moment you said you were ready for. So the unexpected proves you to be weak. All the eyes around you can scrutinize, tear apart your insides. The whispers, and suggestions, liar icons, to full a sense of direction blind. Miracle cures offered to sedate. The friend of the flesh saves for the benefit, while the words of the charade save for convenience. Will there ever be a time? Spend a lifetime in order to realize what? Place identity on material, ancient, out-dated thoughts. Standards of beauty constrict passion to save a social expectation. Or are you still too far gone to realize, too close up to understand, human nature versus mankind's new order. Sell-out or set out against.
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