Why hurtlist I through blackened night,
whenst I could be abed, awash in gentle dream not drowning in desperate hope?
What drives me on through the wet and
sullen thoughts falling from the sky like rain and which lie in rancid pools on
this highway of desire?
Madness?
Or just simple insanity?
Will I finally understand or am I certain
to continue my fruitless clawing?
My nails are dirty from the soils of
ineptitude.
My hands bleed from the toil.
As it is I will wake alone and numb.
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