Journal, Diary, & Blogging / The Grey and the Guiltless

City fights under iridescent lights runs a parallel thought around my thoughts. They chase and bend, to space again, then simply fall into orbit. The cries of the high are cries of our time, moaning like lazy fools. Waste what they have, keep in touch with themselves, laugh, laugh, and die. It makes me cringe when I know I’m binging on the words of Emerson. Because although wise and true, he didn’t follow through in his time. His thoughts were submersed in time, with cardboard and pages, to come to me now, and speak of these ages. Tell me now as if I understand that it must all come to one end. Therefore, his last thoughts were those of iridescent city lights, looking up from the street fights.

Am I at the end of my own rope? The question repeats shockingly fast, making my chest heave and repeat! I’m tired of this play, the Grey and the Guiltless. They never learned, but still smile and twitch, stumbling through the day. They are unaware, of the changes that hang from their own feet. I feel evolution, leaking from the eyes and spilling onto my actions.

I thought they would be different, adaptation for sure, but they think with their chest and lungs.

The Grey and the Guiltless.

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