Don't You? Don't you hate it When everything you own Owns you? It's not being pessimistic To know we're materialistic, With everything we own. Do you own your phone? No. Your phone owns you, with it's GPS and its constant texts, and it's 'Where are you?' from friends. It's the 'What's on your mind?' as we draw the line and post our thoughts online for them. Don't you hate that? I do.
Legacy. Like all things, it starts with a question. One in particular. What would be left of me? Would I be memorialised? Would I be a plaque on a wall somewhere? A martyr to some cause? Or simply a pile of dusty bones in a wooden box underground? Was I supposed to be leaving a legacy, expected to be something more than I am? What if I'm - we are - simple an idea, The last vestiges of a broken dream? Will I someday be forgotten completely? The finest collection I own, Is the regrets I've kept for myself.