Reaching always onward and striving ever-higher,
duly praised under a flaring angry, bad star,
how things seemed practically unlimited back then,
at a time when you were treated much younger,
but in many examples, more wise and experienced.
Drop us weak quickly for a gross chance of survival,
busy gasping inside your foul brash environment,
hope is only what I relayed she listlessly said,
along that rainbow of leaves ejected across water,
desperately caught for your forgotten sidelines.
This ain’t gonna last, because we don’t care anymore,
watching us sluggishly fade, fray, then finally separate,
you traveling well above reproach, yet it’s a ribald lie,
me pinned down far beneath, barely able to breathe,
while both parties silence a mere connection we deny.
Speak, scream, swear, and scold to shake our slumber,
close the damn windows if that will make you feel better,
walk circles the entire night, seldom looking my direction,
pretending everything once your half is in proper control,
since you recklessly sold it all for a semblance of power.
Found what minute good we could be and tore that also,
woke full of intense energy, then again led my stark decline,
passed your dreary cartoons for a saucer over the floor,
spraying its contents aboard this divided stockpiling of arms,
right in our stubborn minds without honestly knowing why.
Sharwrong's Song 