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.