My fingertips graze over that
which I have yet to grasp.
Like a book, I see
the cover. I know
the summary.

Its hype is nearly unbearable.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.
I feel that without it,
I have yet to feel.

A perk and a pain
A bliss and an absence.

Searches are futile. Empty
discoveries abound. Failure
is nearly inevitable. Authenticity
is scarce.

It possesses some power with
which it virtually rules over all.

My curiosity contends my logic and
my overwhelming antipathy conflicts my yearning.

I lack the longing that
follows a loss which
gives me pause.

As my ****** heart stares
at the void, a quivering light
emits from the candle of fear,
brushing the untouched walls, illuminating
the potentiality of destruction.

There is no day in which logic
does not step between my heart
and the void and start to board
up the place.

It is too risky, logic declares,
this place is uninhabitable.
But the naive, ignorant heart implores,

Just wait.