sans projet de vie

daily events fleetingly illuminated 

by a sunbeam reflected on the string of pearls

that I wear under my veil of darkness;

you have to work for a living, i tell myself in the mirror;

stern clouds stare at me through the window;

you need un projet de vie, a viable plan in the competitive job market.

there’s no fire in you - stop wasting your time daydreaming;

you’re just a thinking animal fighting for survival  - we all are.

the thinking part is seldom of any use:

it breeds sadness, disenchantment, screams stuck in your throat;

sometimes even madness - a kind of toxic excitement

that grows black roots in your mind;

hundreds of dead wings are buried

deeper and deeper in your dreams, choking reality;

a keen self-awareness may yet save you

but how can you lift the curtain of smoke and deceit?

oh, the squalor and suffering they have wrought:

those who knew nothing, those of little faith;

there was a time when gods were walking among us;

now we feed on their ashes.

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