There’s a reason that they don’t intertwine,
head and heart, forever war, combustion and collide.

Stalemate, ever deserving,  declares a winner,
decided by the apathy from the hands of a sinner.

To each their own until it affects what we think should be ours,
a cloud of doubt that hangs low enough beneath the storms final hours.

Sleeping sickness surrenders all that’s good and leaving nothing to begin,
I’m in too deep, gone too far, the end is too close for me to start again.

Words caressed, increasing the impression of what’s printed on my heart,
A level of compassion only exists in the form of scandalous figures and charts.

My life’s purpose seems to accommodate comedy,
sips here and gallons there, picking its poison to make itself somebody.

There are days that happen where I’d love to live in my blankets,
and others still where I can’t believe the opportunities I’ve missed.

Feed me knowledge, carefully place me there at the learning edge,
Little victories demonstrating anguish against such large defeats,
back against the wall, I do all that I can to honor my pledge,
a humbled and broken vestige of former self I’d rather not meet.

Concrete plans laid bare, gardens growing, hiding something that was never there,
this life has a tendency to always be unfair.