Victim of somebody elses fetishes Part II

Page after page of dates, histories and facts. There is a world out there that swirls in its own doings and undoings as I type and retype. A coffee stands by me, guiding my way in the dark. There is a world out there that turns back to see itself, finds recognition and goes back like a dog after its tail.
The daylight that no one saw has slowly begun to sink with the rays of hope. It had always been sinking for me, but then I moved out like the others. There was no looking back, there just wasn’t. We all walked forwards into the pasts that our flesh and blood was assigned much before we were born.
Unlike me, my body knows where to take me. My appointments here and based solely on its liking and it’s fetishes tie me down. I try and take the most crowded route because learning from the outside has always been a safer ploy for me. I like to spend, I like to smoke, I like to fuck, I like to drink, claimed some of them as I passed by, wrapped around innocent minds, too slow to register the perpetual winter that their childhood has entered. No changes planned there, not unless the flesh and blood found new souls, found new minds. For now, there was rotting, crows feet, despair followed by bouts of wisdom.
The blinding light of joy lifts its skirts to reveal the sorrow that always hides underneath and in sadness they always find their way back in. Little pleasures that always crush, that hold us back, hoping there will be more and they will always be so good.
Like scabs we will pick and pull, enjoying it as we go down.
And when the wound resurfaces we’ll break down, fall to pieces, waking up to find ourselves joined at the hip to yesterday’s picture story -
Each one rubbed a little at the edges, each one fading. Each one a memory we can’t nail down definitively but can always recognize somewhere deep inside.
Soon the scab grows back, we stand back in lines, to march forward, backward, wherever we can go from here.
Never be static, never be static, the Big Brother hiding inside me chants.
An age is walked through and this generation has begun to sink. A mother opens her arms and the children rush back, angry and hurt, still childlike underneath there somewhere.