my eyes are on fire

(like a band that i heard once, so

mystical and pretentious.)

burn.

with every blink I burn.

soft glass eyes move over

a stream of time

a stream of consciousness

a stream of sodium and potassium

making love

each pump

a pathway to a fire

i thought had died.

Where do I stand when

the passing of time has not yet

yielded

the yearnings

of youth/

But has instead countered the seduction

of “easy” with

“but…

what is worthwhile?”

It would appear I’ve stumbled through a looking glass,

The injustice between “fulfilling” and “feels good” puts fools in vogue.

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