Spotting

Pointing fingers and asking questions to no one in particular. Trying to find the meaning of this bit. Is it just a phase or a little more than just that? Is it just a nightmare waiting to be believed and then to haunt every possible outcome of it's existence?
What is right? Who decides? Since when have we become moral police for just about everybody else? Why is every sacrifice looked upon as a favor or debt? It's humiliating. Selflessness is a long forgotten virtue and yes, we built the void and then, complain. The human way to escape. The sane way to live. Shying away from what is real and cooping up in holes of disguise and deceit. The new way to live. And we live. Lavishly. Luxuriously. Conscience knocks but we ignore knowing we'd have to face reality and oh! that sunshine will burn us to bits. Crawling to protection. Hoping for that one inch of space, which has been traded with that extravagant smile.
Spotting.
The wrong, the bad, the good, the great. Conquering a delusional state and living in it for us. For you. Squeezing in that scrap of integrity to stand with my head held high. Beside you. For you to look down at me and want me. But for how long? Stretching the limits beyond and away. How long do I hold on. Can't be insane anymore. Can't wish for perfection, no more. Perfection closed its door right from when it was ajar and I miscalculated and shut it tight.
Spotting.

Fading.

Extinguished.