when hard times come
they come in swinging
got a great foot game
and you just can't keep up
friends scatter like leaves
in the stiff November wind
when you are out of sight
you remain out of their thoughts, on no one's mind
all the faces you put on
get worn, tattered and soiled
all your smiles are propped up
with spindly scraps of "how it should be"
if we are all stardust
does that mean we're the leavings of Space
the detritus of combustible angels
undesirable elements
you fiddle with the machinery that keeps you connected to the world
but only because you've forgotten that world doesn't give two shits about you
(the proof is everywhere
in the absence of regard)
