The view from the wreckage is always poetic

But who wants to be a wreck?

To mourn the death of dreamers?

To notice the scars on each survivor...

Nobody needs that kind of sorrow

Nobody wants weariness to wear

But here we are, standing at the photo's edge, like idiots

Stained with time, blurring together

And stinking of nostalgia, post-blue

The less we say, the noisier it gets

Never the details that get remembered

Only what-ifs and so-whats, the crappy

Crumbs that fall from salty mouths

Too smartass to admit what's true

Cause it's always too much to swallow

And never enough to satisfy

This incredible hunger still very much alive

Still very much alive

18 December 2022