We, as individuals, are cynical. We are blameless, we say, bystanders, we say. The same old days in and out, in and out, in and out, an endless malaise. The final flush circles the drain. We cower back, scared to take on a solemn responsibility passed generation by generation, day by day. We take our malleable days, soft, clay, and stuff them with strife. We take our life, and we make it hard. Crystalline. Hurdle after hurdle to jump. Why? We fill our lives with endless patter, empty thoughts take precious space, empty words only drifting through space, empty hearts… Time best used with open eyes, and open hearts, and open minds; we stay shut off. Sealed back from the edges, primed and perfect. We keep them closed so we can deny. Deny, deny, deny.

We, collectively, are faulted, for together, we drive this constant assault. Slowly, gently, meandering steps are taken without meaning. We raise our kids, talk our talks, flaunt opinions, fancy and bought. We encase them in silver and etch them in glass, designed to last.
Underneath, a fit of crimson, brooding anger bubbles, our real passions, real hate…We collectively are perfect; we collectively are flawed. We, with every aching breath, move the cosmos with our actions. We move the cosmos with our thoughts. Alone or together, they shift, whether we’re aware or not.

We, individually, are blind. We close our eyes and ignore the distant ricochet of shots, the distant begs and screams. We, as individuals, say it is not our problem. That it’s just the empty words of pain fluttering in silk, aged wings of ink and paper beating painfully against our walls. Fruitlessly. Endlessly. The past tells its truths, and we cover our eyes. The past is the past. Never again, we cry in the same breath. Then tomorrow, we’ve forgotten what it looks like, then we all go back to our game. A game of lives that ebb and flow, some survive, and others don’t. It makes no difference. Then was then, and now is now. The story never tells itself again. Never we say, until it does, and it has, and we are silent all the same.

We, collectively, are silent. Excuses flow like water droplets, dripping down into the stream. A stream of endless lies we tell ourselves. We’re better. We’re smarter. We’re… They flow from our mouths, from their mouths, from ours again. We’re poor, cold, and too tired to fight. Could that be the point? The reason we fight like there isn’t enough? The reason we fight like WE aren’t enough? The reason we turn on each other? Fight or be fought. Kill or be killed? No. They tell us. Just a few more moments. A few more years. A few more decades. A few more tears. Then it’s a life, then two, then a million more. Endless stories are never told, eternal lives lose their lights, and persistent people give up their fight. And why? When there is enough. We are enough. Why do they tell us there isn’t enough?

We, collectively, are lonesome. We sidestep and nullify. We point our fingers aimlessly at mirrors, shaking the blame back onto ourselves. We, individually, are bloated. Overrun by thoughts to save ourselves, what’s one more dollar? I already bled! Why should I take the bullet for another? Why should I save 1 over 5? What’s one more moment, basking in sun, while another toils in inky darkness. What’s one more moment silent, silencing others, if I can be free?
If only one of many is free, while the others are in constant servitude, is it truly freedom? But… we whisper. But what? We own our futures, we own our past, yet we blame others for reaching it and others for ignoring it. We are to blame. I am to blame. You are to blame. They are to blame. But… When do we take an ounce of action? When do we take the time from our lives to do IT? When do we take the first step? When do we begin to finally release our heavy chests and breath? Individually, we cast off the blame, and we, collectively, take it.