Darkest Frame

Pushing shoulder to shoulder, like a storm stuck on a parallelled propagation.

Witnessing a standstill in the halls of a habitual hell.

Fixed expressions, fabricated prospects.

Push me off the side, back to the life that I reside.

Are we accomplished and content? Fulfilled to the brim?

I feel a lack of poise, pinned against another dead end.

Death rides on my back and on the shadows we cast.

Graphs and patterns syncopating up the ladder we’re walking under.

I gave every last ounce of my power, emotions made these motions matter.

What does it even mean to you?