it’s hard to reconcile
what once was and what is
with the boy who used to be
my moral compass.
everything’s changing now
and all that remains through
this pretence of friendship are the
echoes of platitudes.
we traded the quiet optimism of
that boy and girl on the squeaky swing set
for the snide remarks of
a lifeless dance to the beating drums.
crowded imagery wallow in seas of empty
so that the life we lived would be
a blank figure of deep-six.
my talentless fingers trap
the shadows of a million thoughts
fleeing you and the compass stopped:
finger pointing North.
up the boulevard we wrote
when the wind was high on smiles
trying to change the world because
we believed in revolution (so simple).
as the drooping began, we continued
pushing youth ahead with arrogance
that life was the cause of death
without realizing the difference between knowing and thinking.
leading a sheltered life of indifference
afforded to us by our parents, we
squander our emotions on squalor,
pallid depths of despair.
we quote Descartes without understanding:
we’ve gotten lost without trying.
and sex is just sex,
but when did that happen?
because it oughtn’t to be.