It is an effect of the long nights you kept,
the wrong thoughts you had,
the strong lives you've met,
the weak moments you gave.
It is an effect that gave,
you countless maddening thoughts,
countless sleepless nights,
empty desperate cries,
for help, for love, for loss, for longing.
Those blue skies,
you dreamt of,
since the last time you spoke,
your tangible thoughts,
your intangible words,
they give little meaning to me.
I know not what I feel,
I know not what I'm writing,
The criticism inevitably will point to lack.
A lack of ingenuity, of creativity, of strength, of character.
It is an effect of living this modern life.
- To You, The Humble Honest Reader, in a vainglorious hope that you shall not rip my piece to shreds.