I suppose what aches
the heart is a competitive
mind;
It's never win or lose,
but somehow feels mores
like the latter.
With dreams, come
the scenery of futures.
You close your eyes
and it's like you're there again;
crying over another broken heart,
or
better yet,
mourning over a father
who let the needle
love him too deep.
The mind is not
for or against
the concrete reality.
It persists
to perceive.
And what aches
the heart
is the breath
that competes.