Slandered on the juvenile philosophy of candle lit promises
We stagger our moments.
I struck my head on the idea and was left concussed.
The future is dimmed with Techno beats,
The thump and pound of a good night out,
To drown concerns with one more shot
Then to wake up with another.
"Parade the streets and expose yourself
Just to show that you're still alive".
As I squinted through the mist and fumes
Of lost minds in the collage dorms
I per chanced to see you.
A soul of glass among the oceans,
You sank right to the bottom.
You were being drowned by the "post modern"
Ideas of chance, Dada art, and low energy lightbulbs
Which give people false hopes of a tomorrow
Worth what they pay and labour for.
The room was too full of
pictures and posters
Of naked idolised pop stars
To even breath.
Hearing the students talk of their late night
Activities was both perplexing and deafening.
Speaking of how they.... and did.... and saw....
I could hear no more.
There is no such thing as
An innocent victim
Of death.
Life is living proof of this.
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