People yearn for attention, pictures, videos,
A contagion of media,
However,
I wish to recede into mystery,
A shadow in the background.
A well-dressed silent martyr of who no one knows the sound of their voice,
Just the blur of a vague figure that holds tight to their secrets and
Keeps their own company.
A personified riddle of which society cannot be bothered to solve,
A protected soul that can be shattered no more than need be,
Free from the intoxication of pack mentality,
The lone traveller at a desolate gas station,
The drifter who is never from around here,
The cold chill that tiptoes up the staircase of your vertebrae when silence is near.
Each generation is worse than the last as we
Peel back the candy layers of our nature.
It is best to be anonymous in a world so full of projectiles and a lack of comprehension for complexity.
I will be the ghost that is seen, but never heard,
That taps on your window to get you to look outside,
The definition of quicksand
The appearance of solid ground that swallows unsuspecting beasts into the void.