There is a world of abuse
That continues to threaten
The common self.
There is a haunting presence
That shadows the perception of light.
There is a pressure that lures
Beyond the candle lit flame,
With a double faced head
Gleaming with impertinence,
Grinning with menace.
A twitch in the movement
Of her head, angled towards
The sound of familiar
Drone around, illustrates the discomfort
Of the infused atmosphere.
Familiar sounds, both lyrical
And musical, combined with converse,
Both banal and entertaining.
The beat rolls,
Aggressively motivating the speed of change.
A pause for air, from beneath
The surface of submission,
Creates a new film of light
On the participating fools.
Taste, devour, invade, intrude, continually
Reassure of the insecurities felt,
The abuse once held dear,
The isolation endured amongst
The presence of others.
Await, the end,
There is none.
There is only observation
Observation of oneself.
