Firecrackers at midnight
To signal the start
Of the new race.
Minutes away
From a random point in time
Where we start fresh
Curse of the photographer
Is to never see yourself
But in mirrors.
Wishing on stars
Or on a humble flicker
To see the light.
Hundred miles an hour
The monsters of the night
Seem easy to outrun.
Stairs going up
To the chambers above
Taste of things to come
This thing of mine
Keeps me from seeing the light
Things distract from life.
Brand new pixels,
Glimmering in the light,
Planned obsolescence.
Sea of cookies,
Essence of all things good,
Waiting to be devoured.
Bright colors,
Building the fantastic forms
Of imagination.
