Camera Obscura

I'm no saint.
It kills me to find
what your old comrades truly are

the insecure
the wench
the bastard
the whore
the ignorant
the complacent

young eyes obscure the truth.
rings around your eyes count the lost ones...
marking the skewed conjurings...
the burnt out relics.

there is something...
something you forgot to tell me.
I try to find it in my heart...
try to find it in you

You give me nothing to work with.
I search for my happiness...
searching my existence...
I see it relies on all of you