Ripe Fruit

Hurtling
through space...

all together.

Those eyes glaze stupidly, hungrily,
at the spectacle that is you.
They are sitting there
swollen on mediocrity
they judge with their glassy eyes
and cheap clothes.

You are a warrior, you think.
You are a ripe fruit you think...
a fruit of rustling energy.

Thin gray casing
tightly hold innards
ready to burst through, blossom through
with a snap and a sizzle!

You accept the burden of you
the burden that is you, as a crown
your will to power
to will the power!

How beautiful you look when the light hits you...
the light always hits you just right.
Look how they stare when the light hits you,
its just wrong.

In time soon, someone else will fill your space...
next stop, next life, someone else
with cheap clothes and broken dreams.
Perhaps someone else, like you
living glamour in black car...

but someone else will be there,
to fill your space,
staring into the void
hungry for just a little more..
like you
like me
hurting
hurtling
hurting
through space.