Texty: Burnt by the Sun. Buffy.

This is ludicrous speed, what's here and now
And intended to be clear to the senses passes as a blur
Obsession, desire, desire, obsession, I know the answer
Inside is fighting the image of beauty and security

I can hear it gnawing at my consciousness
In the background, groveling, unnerving, yet deaf
To nonsensical ears, I fear why I desire, I understand
How this all works and yet I'm still fixated

Saturday nights are just the start, a day or two
Into the week and I'm half way back, by the time I get home
I'm back there again, I am completely aware
And yet somehow I'm forced to the margins

Bench warming and there seems little chance of me
Getting out alive, a person no more, I watch and I watch
Absurd recap, a person no more and it feels so good it hurts
I watch again, recapitulation, worn down

This is not where I want to be, unfamiliar mirrors
I wonder what has become of my life

The gaps in our lives seem to be so easily replenished
With the products of our imagination, allowing ourselves to believe
That the touched up digital images of perfection are real
And set the standard for beauty and truth within ourselves

But such things tend to leave a person more lonely
Than she was to start with as the bombardment of these images
Through entertainment and advertisements remove us
Even more from the rawness of life