This is the Sound

This is the sound of fading, empty days,
The overexposed photograph, dreaming,
A careless, wandering thought that never stays.

The fathoms-deep, retrospective gaze
Reflects distant, fiery flowers gleaming,
This is the sound of fading, empty days.

The screaming; the devil-inside-you blaze,
Volcanic ruptures hiss, tea pot steaming,
A careless, wandering thought that never stays.

"This, here, it's just another phase,"
"Oh, you know, it's not quite what it seems."
These are the sounds of fading, empty days.

"No, no, there must be some other way,'
I am crying in the bathroom, scheming,
A careless, wandering thought that never stays.

Look up and pray to empty skies, give praise
to cold fluorescent lights' buzz careening.
This is the sound of fading, empty daze.
A careless, leaving thought that never stays.