oblivion feeds on fragility. 

your ignorance that drowns me in frustration, aches like a wound of knives. 

it is still never enough. 

in your world, colors always bloom as if the sunshine never ceases. 

moments like picture-perfect snapshots, devoid of even a hint of strife, 

oblivion feeds on fragility. 

polaroids of easy laughter and crescent-moon lips, corners creased 

in memories well-loved and only worthy of tears you will never cry.

it is still never enough. 

the state of being fine, a naive bubble, an illusion made of the very air you breathe

when blood and cruelty erupt across the planet like volcanoes in the night, 

oblivion feeds on fragility. 

wide open eyes reserved only for the cotton candy skies and sapphire blue seas

head in the clouds, because surely it’s too early to say goodbye;

it is still never enough. 

sitting quietly in that small cafe you love with your steaming cup of coffee

is there nothing else you wish you could say, do, write? 

ah, right - oblivion feeds on fragility, 

and everything you do

will still never be enough.