Cradled in our own perversion of definitions and understanding, our breath goes to the air. Thinking in mosaics as we handle the smoke of our demise. And after every puff or chew we scoff at everyone that passes with clicking tongues and mutters of "there's more to life" and "what a shame" in our direction. But it isn't a shame and there isn't anything more, just the thought to carry us both to the sky that ends where the ground starts. I swear we're already walking on air, like a Messiah but a little different in our thinking. Because with every grind and every little shrug of thought, we're going around and around, but staying still as everything else is going around so fast already. We keep thinking and chewing at the same time, call it multi-tasking. Everyone cares and that makes it worse and we're acting like we have sense when we contradict each other with wit and sarcasm. But we don't, and we never will and no one knows about what we're chewing on.
It's like we're already gone and forgotten.