Youth's Manic Chic

To see you age; through smiles of stainless steel,
To see your salted skin begin to pale
and the glint in your eyes become vulnerable tears,
I couldn't bear it.

So I look through a tint,
at everything as if,
we were all here for solitary immortal moments
captured in ephemeral photographs,
where no blood can seep through potential cracks
like yours did.

You say these are the good days, the ones they talk about that fade,
where music blasts through our ears so loud
the echoes of silence sit in the background like reapers and wait.
And our day of death hides behind the last meander of fate
not known until the turn has been taken,
a footstep before your final feat.

So you turn up the music inside your head,
of romanticized life; full of lust and life,
and leave all the dying souls behind.
And everything dying, like you, is something to be forgotten.
They’re just inconveniences never to be wondered, or pondered.
And all the gaps you jump over, that you never look at,
have captured and ensnared you, yet I still don’t look back.
And I never think about it, the gaps I’ll eventually collapse beneath,
The gaps where you lie now, underneath youth’s manic chic.