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26 September 2010 @ 12:59 pm
masochists  
strange days, these are

amidst the blaring colors and the raucous laughter
there is a disquiet
we call it adventure; we call it freedom
but this freedom is nothing more than
a glamorized resignation
as we fumble and grope for purpose

we like to believe in the moment
we like to be fooled into thinking
a brush, a touch, a caress
will unravel the tragedies we've woven
but the longer we dull our senses
the deeper we burrow
until we're estranged from ourselves

we all know the question lingering in the back of our minds
will we escape before the collapse?

it hurts to see your eyelids struggle to rise
and reveal the blinking vacancy signs
it would take but one tilt of the chin
to face the sun and let the light filter
through pupils that have long strained to dilate

we're one step from ground zero
and one step from grace
we romanticize the descent
desperate to pad the fall
we try to wax philosophic
with the fervent stroke of a pen
and we create collages of cut-out shapes from faded polaroids
of slivers in time where we thought
everything brash and raw was beautiful

but inevitably, we'll be on our knees
oh, how the body aches with this weight
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