Fame, fame, fatal fame It can play hideous tricks on the brain Still I'd rather be famous, than righteous and holy Any day, any day, any day There is a humiliating feeling that comes from thinking you're not very smart. Tara took a look into the mirror. Her light, peach-colored skin glowed in the sunshine. Her eyes were bluer than robin's eggs. Her lips red as iron-rich blood. Her hair fair and yellow as the ripe barley on an autumn day. Am I not one of a kind? A snowflake? That day Tara decided to create a Social Media account. She shared pictures of her face and her thoughts on matters of all kinds. She received applaud, appreciation and a great deal of followers. Her thoughts were shallow, she simply repeated words previously spoken by others. There was nothing she shared that was of true value but there was nothing the world expected. The world was simply satisfied with rubbish. All those people, all those lives, where are they now? With-a loves and hates and passions j

A group of friends of all trades Rubbing each other's backs Barbecues on chilly spring evenings Talking about life and death Admiring the endless light Listening to Mumford and Sons Dancing naked in the forest Pure serenity Whiskey in a hip flask Someone takes out a guitar Someone falls in love Staying awake until it gets light again Someone needs to stay sober to get us back home All good things come to an end Shattered around the country, the world We collectively separately think of those times We all agree They were good. But it was not your fault but mine And it was your heart on the line I really fucked it up this time Didn't I, my dear?

Eamonn looked down upon his hands He had to admit - he very much disregarded, yes even detested himself After he had spoken, he started to hate every word he said, Nothing of it was pleasant and it was as if he heard himself speak rather than producing speech himself He used to consider himself rather amusing, he could recall people laughing at his humorous jokes These days he tried to be funny But nothing he said was considered hilarious in any way He might have as well remained quiet Sometimes when people started to laugh after he spoke it was rather they were laughing at him than laughing at his jests What a miserable life he lead Once there was Apple Apple loved to get high with Eamonn They'd sit around the campfire with all their friends and pass the pipe around Apple and Eamonn dreamed of poems and prayers and promises They dreamed of having four children Their names be Rosemary, Sage, Parsley and Thyme But it all came different As it is in life Things turn out different than

Time seems to be linear When I was sixteen, "Seventeen forever" was my number one song These days I can't stand listening to it Nonetheless, they were right We won't be seventeen forever Sometimes we can't return to being seventeen because we're gone And we're not there to wonder whether we could return Friends, partners, offspring, family..  There is nothing and nobody that we really own Everything and everyone is on loan There is nothing we can hold on to Only barely ourselves Life is hard Just for some it is harder than for others Some have to go through a living hell And won't get out of it While others go through smaller living hells And come out of them stronger and healthier There is nothing we can take for granted Still we are full of pretentious confidence Perhaps this being a mode of survival It laces up the throats of others What have we learned? Here and now is what matters It's really all we have Apart from the memory of being seventee