Drifting in this moonlight sepulchre of solitude.
Tearful rain and thunderous moans of your own backyard as it reads proverbs to the sky. You attempt to turn it's pages, even though it is to wet to even try.
How long is this list of agonized?
Don't tell me you have forgotten this world of days gone past?
I don't believe you have.
You remember the mother?
If you are not paying attention; the deplorable mother.
The junk of a mother.
The one who, when she was left behind with only a son, needed a drink. The mother who smoked until her fingers were permanently stained in shades of yellow mustard. Trying to cover that food smell with a blanket of smoke, whilst she drank herself to sleep from a doubled shift.
Remember seeing her turn into an empty shell with doll hair of grey, until nothing remained, but a mere shadow of her former days.
Remember her having two or three, or even four. Maybe it was more? When noises grew too loud from having friends over late at night, you remember, when money was tight.
Because a kiss from a fist was better than nothing at all.
Don't you recall?
Because nothing new ever happens here, don't you know? Like those big fat piano keys that crawls through our todays, with the sounds of tomorrows, when they are actually just yesterdays waiting to be. When the ideals, indicative of the uniquity in our situations, fades upon the awareness of the global regularity of these situations, our spirit withers and dies, taking a ticket to the back of the line.
But you, I know, are starting to see the pattern of chaotic anguish within this equation. And by noticing our individual insignificance, you have become invaluable.
Come with me.
Living in a dream.
In a dream.
It's the key.
The key for you and me.
So remember the key,
Be what you were made to be.
The time has come for you to see the game.
For the game sees you,
But never your dreams.