I hear city nightlife scream a thrill, raucous, and unadulterated glee; and I realize love lost for a city I once dared lay a claim to. Drunken voices resolve, then pass, fade into their night. I cannot feel the love, cannot drink enough (won't). It hurts less but what if my ignorance billows while I am trapped. Where's my *** drive? Didn't misplace it. There's my ex. Can't erase this. Buried it. Didn't want t'**** it all up. Look here, aha ha, here I am. Keep me awake. I'll finish this poem. I'm into some serious sleep-debt. Willingness is hurting oneself. A problem's being too willing to see the other side. Despite misgivings that've run amok, I trust my ethics enough to study the dark arts.
Good morning Roman Countryside. The City of Rome's dawn asks kindly would I arise?