isolation

back turned, a neutral composure, a hint of irritation when polite smiles dig a little deeper because the superficial is manifest when the cake is the prize. just being used, warming the seat, trickery and lip service becomes the currency of exchange but the protestor is adamant, a reminder of golden ages that never persisted because the waves come from inside, old parts no longer providing a function for the living. new fruits emerge, calling with sharpness, becomes disconcerting a cacophony of many wants beings masked as needs and what used to work no longer does, already the wings have sprouted, longing to fly unable to. make the leap, jump, the drop is something to feel giddy about, all long for golden parachutes and the ones holding those smile and say not enough, though it comes along as it means nothing, yet they cling on to those life saving apparatus, sure sounds like hypocrisy. in this day and age, it has become norm to speak like that, waves wash over rocks not even breaking a tiny crack, a fissure to be formed for the surface is smooth, i have become your reflection no longer wary of changes, of the unknown, of the cursed drop falling, is all i have learned with those funny looking inflatables suddenly puffing up not everyone gets dashed to pieces at least not externally, as for the rest - this isolation of wanting more is simply a price, of growing up, of taking the forbidden fruit :knowledge. does not redeem. the soul, and yet childhood's end a trajectory unavoidable, do i really want to remain the child? independence, becoming our own captains, isolation fades, a faint reminder of what used to be.