Maybe I should not.
Living can not equal pushing.
Not in the least strains.
Must I run and strain?
No, hearts do not want anything but be simple water drops on simple grounds.
Simple waters,
Flow, flow, and not burst.

My insides do not keep any order.
Nor do I keep that as my passion.
Distracted ruins of my simultaneousness...
Stumble,
Then give up on the road.
Shiver all you want,
In a mind you are there and warm.