The candles are lit,
Sun is low.
Desire is pitiful
Because as an entity,
It proves to be singular.
This characteristic favors
Only one route.
A path lacking
Mobility and fluidity.
There are no curves
Or bends
Along the extended appendage.
I have fallen
Off this highway,
Looking for
A complex sympathy.
All I found,
in my distress,
was a dismal pain.
It was very simplistic,
Lacking creativity
Or an enchantment of time.
For so long
I suffered
Numerous disappointments.
It is such a trifle,
My complaints,
Always seeming to annoy
Or fall on deaf ears.
For what does it matter
If they don't listen?
Even if they did,
I would still not be able
To conquer my fears
Or vices.
Where to go
And what to do?
I still have no clue.