missed opportunities for a burned out soul
potential thrown away lackadaisically in the fleeting moment
a school-of-thought to ruin a lifetime of work
leaving you in the cold, wet dirt

you know it's bad when crying is enjoyable
an actual show of emotion comes as bleak relief from the never-ending steppe of non-existence
an true yet brief feeling; enough to rekindle the dampened spirit
but crushed without a thought by the elapse of tissues
the ducts are dry, nothing left but shudders

back to normality and banality
same old, same old, so they say
more powerful than words and transient passion
and i greet and embrace it like a returning master
clinging to it despite my unchained body
"hello master, nice to see you again"