(a)pathetic

Never before

have we cared so much

about caring so little.

The stimuli prodding every

brain-cell we have,

every

My mouth, it moves,
and the words come out
But I'm the walking dead
who's stumbling about.

My ears, they hear,
and the words

I see in your eyes, two of me
But they are not quite the same
One is a widows eulogy
The other a future of fame

I suppose it

Complacency can’t recognize

The flames which burn and slowly rise

I’ve learned to love the smoky smell

The heat

ADRIFT

The current doesn't pull me in directions I fight against.
The tide doesn't rush in to overwhelm me.
I am still anchorless