Really

It's not the things I can't have
Or even necessarily the things that I want
To enjoy a moment
It is not even who they are
But what I can make them
Expanding upon a single feature
Until that becomes the ultimate aspect

It's probably not their fault
While no fault of mine
To judge, begrudge, and expect better
Picturing them with poor habits
Making every movement
A grotesque display

It's as if they never were
These random faces
Bodies in a chamber
Shooting through time
Bodies in motion
Yet all at once
Becoming celluloid

Turning flat
Burnt with light
With more darkness to singe
Dissapearing
When everything
(Really)
Should appear cellular

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7.7.06