Prince Gerascophobe

Sad sack sartre lost his heart in China and went looking for among vanity litter obsessed France
The fable pebbles fall from hands
And something decays inside
And only the romantics remember how to skip across the waters of passion, forever and a day
The skin worn imprints serve not to temper risks taken
Blemishes analysed, running from pain
And thus running from the stories that keep Nostalgia employed
Reminiscing and wishing that you could fit those better time dusty shoes
Soiling the right here and dissipating what may come
Lost in China
Skipping on the vinyl
Your heads not where your heart is
Your heart isn't where your feet leave prints
Your mind isn't where your arse grows numb
Seperated from what would do you best
Because you know best and he's quite stuck in his ways
An old dog, getting high on the carpet waiting to amuse your bones
While your other parts continue yesterday's search through the wrong parts of never to be again
Convenient creedence in what one has seen like cataracts causing tunnel vision
These are the morticians of childhood
Yet to die unto the next phase
Unready to let go and see what else can be etched into the skin
Poking and prodding their own corpse
Wondering why the memories hurt
Or why you don't feel quite right
Or why people are starting to recoil
Grow like A tree
Not like the stench of rotting flesh
Thinking you know best
At the behest of regret
To more acutely forget
Necessary lessons from the proper digestion of yesterday
Weaponising your dreams for self flagellation in full view of mistakes repeatedly made
May-be they've got something to say
Perhaps that's just the naivete of youth
Uncouth and rude
I'm just A mirror
So show yourselves in better lights, where the shadows can't shape you
Because you eat shadows, backwards engineering light
And gaining another flesh wound mark of experience.

- Ryan Dickinson