A field of likes,
superficial dopaminic rushes,
catching each blow brushed against your weakened ego,
a like is a thousand kisses, blank, black.

A lifetime of not feeling, seeking never ending reassurances,
but the feeling, a feeling so slim, so fleeting,
is all you are ever needing,
for those feelings, 
lie in the valley of deception,
your tiger eyes,
deny.

Do you need each brief hug or embrace,
a brief encounter with your fate,
like icicles in the sky,
every teardrop a dying cry,
can darken the skies,
or enlighten those turning times.