nothing is possible but the gradual and
general interests of destruction, foggy
and empty in a world i never made.

i do not allow for wistful longings or
the blind choices that prevail; they belong
to the conflicts in the rivalries of chance.

the girl who would like to be loved becomes
divorced from the means, standing in judgement
of the heart that is pushed by the deeper
substance of mediocrity, hanging in the vacuum
that with love would be peace.