Sphere

And so, right now, everyone has a word in.
The standard erect, for all to witness.
An opinion of sorts, a quiet whisper of thoughts.
A blunt rambling of ideas,
Bathing in the cheerful agony of views.

The background noise, the life, so loud,
It taints anything in between,
Everything we have ever seen.
You know how it feels like, how it passes through.
The touch of the untouchables, the expendable and priceless treasures.
Each a relic in itself. Flaying each other, everyday.
For the formal, the statistical fortress of they.
How you, and yes, how we strike in every letter,
Every single useless word. Spiraling phrases.
Every day, in sake of void immortality.
Bury your head in the finite, disguised infinite, and forget about the end.
The inkless reminder of concepts, overseeing shadows.
Blind specters of humanity.
The idiot's dream, forged in the man's speech.
Endlessly multiplying, as the servers are crying.

The soft impression left by the grain of sand.
A throwster, spinning away the vacant space.
Washed ashore, wet and scarred with the crowd,
When everyone looks the same, you try the impact of yourself.
Look around. And see it mirrored in them.
See it reflected, in perfect resonance.
And with it, see the true colour and shape of what lies ahead.
And don't look for clues. They've already fled.

Know sleep won't come.
Open wide, let it sink in.
Sorry, for your skin's still the same,
I am sorry, but I doubt it'll ease the pain.