We remember the lost. People with sunken hearts who have failed to claim glory or notice throughout the swirl of faces. Flailing of hands swat them away with bored glances.
We rise from the oil of the murk; slick with failure, blinded with hate, perhaps even longing for notice and the touch of another with interest. Sometimes we are lost to the corruption that clings to our skin, stopping our breath, forcing our hand to take drastic actions towards interested individuals. Wrapping ourselves around their light or strangling them with the taint that sickens the interested to a point of concentrated disgust. Upon occasion we are known to clump together, stretch each other closer to feel the lonesome hole seal momentarily as we are left behind in the interested individuals wake.

Plod we do, across the ocean depths of unseeing, through cities of light that hold only hope for the reflective and insightful towards one another. Some envy the interested figures, sharing and playing amongst themselves while we do nothing but wander through alleys, observing from afar and taking precise care not to have their light shine on our oily skin - as it will crack and infect.

Ideas may spring from the hands or mouth from we lost, manufacturing unusual creations that may entice interested individuals towards oneself. Ho, what spectacular odds are up against us all, to create such magic. Creation of such amazing powers also have their risks. Failure promotes thickening of oils and the pull of our hearts, folding us like a simple paper plane into itself, causing mass collapse upon ourselves. A risk well worth an effort that could afford you powers that may douse you in gold, a friendly hand to coddle against your cheek.

Fear of regret and ruin, even the mocking beaks of the interested -- most know of its chain which strangulates our throats. Constantly longing for the light yet still concerned to linger in the darkness; we drape our hands over the shoulders of those whom wish it, snaking throughout our cities, traversing our obstacles as one, never ceasing bead towards the light.