Insanity is an interesting follower;

it stalks you like thoughts of death,

or a jealous ex-lover on Facebook,

though less aggressive than the last.

 

There is no rush for death or insanity,

they will visit us all some day,

and when they sink their teeth in,

I imagine it's permanent.

 

Imagine something being permanent,

in this world where even love decays and hollows out,

and eternal is beyond comprehension.

 

Imagine love as it was meant to be,

romantic,

innocent,

unconditional,

we're not strong enough to love,

unless it's a love of self.

 

Look around you,

endless self-promotion,

meaningless back-patting,

and barely any words of meaning;

what do you think this poem is?

 

If we wish to fight against the growing distance,

between us and the people we could love,

we must first battle with ourselves,

and understand our failure.

 

We will look past our too-easily-hurt pride,

our limping-but-still-alive modesty,

or will we just see our powerful egos?

 

Will we change,

for the better?

 

Of course we won't,

but the thought is nice.