On Azura

Second verse, same as the first. I might do these for all the Princes, it's good practice in prose poetry.

Azura is the way the sunset reaches out to stop you from going back inside.

It’s that yank on the stem of your heart when you realize that the conversation is not about you anymore. Because, like, for a while, maybe even for just a split second, you were the golden child. You were everything anyone could have wanted. You know that sense of paradigm-shifting awe you get when you see the sun rise over the ocean? Or when you slowly witness everything curling into shades of blood-red when it sits sidesaddle on the horizon? Imagine being the subject of that. That’s Azura, and she knows that that moment is straight-up done. It’s over with. Hell, it’s midday noon, nobody remembers what the sunrise looked like anymore, they’re busy living their lives.

Can you even fathom the kind of withdrawals you’d get from that? The kind of empty envy that you only develop when you don’t realize your girlfriend is leaving until she’s packed up her stuff and moved it into your best friend’s house? And what’s even worse, you’re right there, pinned in place looking in by the force of your bile fascination. You watch every movement with aching, painfully-acute knowledge that whatever comes next, once it was you. Every grape that passes her lips, it should be you feeding it to her. The glimmer in their eyes when that traitor makes her laugh, it should be you reflected in her pupils.

So you spend your time buying fancy clothes, or keeping up on the latest tech gossip, or buying a solid god-damn gold iPhone. Your bedroom is immaculately kept, every inch so perfectly arranged, anything anyone could want, barring undying adulation. And sure, you can pick up other girls, or other guys, easily enough. You've practiced that heart-stop half-smile ten thousand times in your mirror, your charm is a honed edge, are you kidding? But that's all it is. Your life is just this peacock morass of compensation, and you hate yourself for it.

But you hate the people who stopped looking at you more, for reducing you to this.