I stand atop this pinnacle of stone as all I know floats in a rising tide around me, rising higher, once forgotten memories pushed far to the bottom of my soul now raised like some monster shipwreck, bobbing in the rising swells of my mind.
The distant glow of what the world used to mean sputters like a dying flame in the winds of oblivion. All you hold dear will crumble, shatter in a rain around you, a mess of worn out party fiends, no momentum left now, you reap what you sow.
A generation of mess-heads always eager for the next fix but oh so reluctant to pay with anything but their souls, sold to the neon gods for the highest bid, the promise of a better night and a darker tomorrow.
The shattered dreams of a thousand drunken dancers crunch underfoot, fuel to the fire waiting to spark and consume this once bright hall. Now filled only with the lingering traces of has-beens with last nights drinks on their breath, and tomorrows song in their heads.
Too fast they move, too fast for mere mortals these gods of last night, these saints of wasted chances, of forgotten futures, selling tickets for the end of tomorrow, the show of your life.
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