This has been described by a friend as "a super poetic suicide note" but it's just my picture of the world during a little rough patch not so long ago... and I still find it accurate... it's my opinion anyway... maybe I regret too much... but I think that might be voiced in the poem. After all; some of the things I'm regretting were before my time... so there you go. That's my little note

---

Life lacks the poetry and romance of the Past

.:By xoX-IHeartSureal-Xox:.

Life lacks the poetry and romance of the past...

or maybe the past never held these qualities...

everything seems to revolve around sex and drugs and alcohol...

but in the greyest possible of ways.

Public mentalities drift to abstract vulgarity...

it’s hard to see if any living being is truly innocent any more as innocence grows so tainted and becomes so tampered with...

I want to live in an age of dreams; an age that can never be as we tear the world to pieces...

beauty is nothing; non-existent...

truth is its own lie, and dishonesty is the most honest thing you can expect...

love is a concept lost in vain objectification and lust; a name for obsession and a reasoning for violence and paranoia (as though there need be more reasons in an era powered by just that, as every era before and every era to come)...

originality is tarnished and spent as we recycle old concepts with new slogans; what generic contradictions we’re capable of...

life is a mockery of itself and each and every one of us lives in denial in some shape or form...

ghettos, slums, and shanty towns treated as a fairytale or an urban myth;

fact is nothing but fiction after all...

life only seems to exist to bring death...

death brings grief;

grief brings depression;

depression brings self-hate;

self-hate brings a facade of comic anecdotes and confidence with a garnish of false-happiness...

and still we are blind; humanity’s optician a business bankrupt, left to decay as none tend to its maintenance ...

life lacks the poetry and romance of the past...

or maybe the past never held these qualities...

maybe they were just vague ideas in my mind; born out of such pointless bitter hopes